


When We Were Monsters

by whatthefridge



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Victim Blaming, aftermath of psychological rape, the ending is smutty af
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-02-16 02:45:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 56,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13044879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthefridge/pseuds/whatthefridge
Summary: Jackson’s done being in the spotlight. London chewed him up and spit him out, and all he wants is the life of a regular teen again. But the secrets he carries are heavy, and Stiles refuses to back down until Jackson airs every bit of misery he’s been dealt since the day Derek bit him and psychos got a hold of his head.No one seems to blame Stiles for the nogitsune, but he can’t help blaming himself for letting it in. He’s having a hard enough time coping when Jackson suddenly returns from London, able to see through Stiles’s facade and tell him what everyone else denies as truth. It’s enough to make Stiles want to pry.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There is Stiles/Malia and Jackson/Lydia in the story. It's minor, but it's important to the plot. There's no cheating.
> 
> This fic takes place between season 3B and 4, and it's implied that season 4 is still going to happen. So while the ending is happy, there isn't a happily-ever-after.
> 
> I started writing this before season 5B aired, and the plot has stayed more or less the same since. I haven’t watched any of season 6 yet, but I know enough about it to throw in some references (while also disregarding some newer canon). This fic _does_ spoil the first three seasons of Teen Wolf, though, if that’s a thing you’re concerned about.
> 
> I want to give a special thanks to my beta, [Null](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyxelestia/pseuds/Nyxelestia), for being a fresh set of eyes. I'm an American millennial but apparently I have a tendency to write like an elderly British gentleman xD
> 
> I also want to thank the [Teen Wolf Legacy Discord Group](http://fanfictionfridge.tumblr.com/post/166914648932/if-you-ever-need-a-place-to-critically-discuss) for helping me brainstorm through several writer's blocks.
> 
> Also, I don’t dwell on race/ethnicity in this fic, but I wanted to give a brief overview anyway:  
> \- Scott is latino  
> \- Kira is Korean/Japanese  
> \- Danny is Hawaiian  
> \- Boyd, Dr. Deaton, and Ms. Morrell are black  
> \- For mentions of original characters: Anita is British Indian, Dominic is black/mixed
> 
> \--
> 
>  
> 
> **Constructive feedback is highly welcome. And I give permission for this to be on Goodreads.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I've worked over two frikken years on this fic, and Ch1 was debuted during [Stackson Week 2017](http://stacksonweek.tumblr.com/post/166510353026/stackson-week-december-17th-december-23rd-2017) so that I'd have _something_ to show.)

Six months away and Jackson Whittemore barely recognized the town he used to call home. He wondered if it was his wolf senses catching sounds and smells that used to pass him right by, but that’d be denying how much the town reeked of death and fear after the onslaught of alpha packs and rogue emissaries and released demons. No one anticipated that the tree stump formerly used as a nemeton could get reawakened and return Beacon Hills to being a supernatural magnetic beacon. It almost made Jackson long for the simpler days of worrying about werewolves and hunters.

The only reason the town wasn’t in panic was because people lied to themselves so they could sleep better at night, rationalizing events to fit into whatever narrow view of the world they had. Jackson’s own parents acted like everything was fine, that the attorney office _wasn’t_ seeing an unnatural rise in lawsuits against the hospital and the police station and the high school. As though a plague of serial killers and mountain lions was just _typical_ for this small California county.

He wish wasn’t tethered to this hellhole, but he hadn’t lasted long in London. He had the means to go anywhere else in the world; he didn’t _need_ to graduate from Beacon Hills High. But this was the only home he knew, and his parents were fucking thrilled to have him back. They’d been sold on the idea that he could get special therapy in London, fabricated by the very woman who welcomed him overseas. 

Jackson supposed it _was_ therapeutic, if he ignored the additional blood on his hands.

 

#

 

Stiles Stilinski had a solid eight hours of sleep. 

Across three days. 

The best yet.

He rubbed his eyes as he stared across the high school’s parking lot, recognizing the silver Porsche and wondering what he did to deserve this. 

“Jackson’s back?” Scott asked, confirming that they were seeing the same thing.

“I don’t know,” Stiles said. “But nothing good ever arrives in Beacon Hills anymore.”

From afar, Jackson appeared as clean-cut as ever with his fitted button-down shirt, crisp leather jacket, and perfectly styled hair. He held himself tall as always, above everyone else. A needle in Stiles’s side ever since grade school. But Jackson was a coward at his core, running across the Atlantic as soon as Lydia Martin saved him with her unconditional love. The heartless bastard never deserved her in the first place.

Stiles was fine glaring from afar, but Scott had other ideas—like confronting Jackson. Stiles hadn’t seen this level of determination since Allison’s burial, when Scott started wearing black everyday. He had to keep reminding himself that Scott was an alpha werewolf these days, no longer the skittish kid Stiles needed to protect.

As though that’d stop him from trying. 

Upon closer inspection, Stiles noted the darkness around Jackson’s eyes, the absence of his signature resting bitch face. Something about the guy looked a lot older than seventeen.

Not that Stiles was in any position to judge.

“Jackson,” Scott said, flashing his red wolf eyes.

“McCall,” Jackson sneered, his gray eyes flashing bright blue as he sized Scott up. “The _infamous_ true alpha, earning his status out of sheer force of will. Extremely rare. But nothing is too rare for you, is it?”

“How’d you find out?”

Jackson rolled his eyes, and _there_ was his resting bitch face. “How did I _not_ find out, Scott? Your name is circulating throughout the entire supernatural community.”

Scott flushed and scratched his neck. He never did know what to do with his popularity except to get the girl. 

Stiles replied for him. “Are you back just to taunt us?”

“As if,” Jackson said, glancing between him and Scott. “I’ve got other things on my mind besides you, Sad and Sadder.”

Scott pressed on. “We have to stick together, though. We’re stronger that way.”

Leave it to Scott to pitch teamwork to Jackson after everything the guy put them through. 

Jackson scoffed. “You don’t want a murderer near your pack, _Alpha McCall_.”

“You weren’t you when you were the kanima.”

Jackson swung his backpack strap over his shoulder. “I was always me,” he said before walking away with a flair.

“Not ominous at all,” Stiles called out. “And just in time for funeral season.”

 

#

 

Jackson saw her coming, and he did nothing to prevent the slap. It didn’t sting as much as her look of betrayal. He’d had to die Lydia’s arms for her to admit she still loved him, and it’d been a hollow victory. He couldn’t drop the baggage that came with being a kanima once it was over, but he did drop school, dropped _everything_ to get away, leaving without so much as a goodbye.

The sound caught the attention of people in the halls, who played it off like they weren’t indulging in some new gossip. After all, Jackson and Lydia were once the couple who ruled the halls during the day and explore one another at night—back when Jackson would do anything for Lydia.

“How _dare_ you show your face again!” Lydia’s voice strained with fury as she drew her hands into fists and beat Jackson’s chest. “If you think I’m just going to welcome you with open arms, you’ve got another thing coming. Do you even known what we’ve been through since you’ve been gone?”

“I know Allison’s dead.”

Lydia stepped away from him, eyes wet with unshed tears. “It’s not fair. Why did you get a second chance and she didn’t?”

That was low, even for her. “I’m sorry,” he said, not knowing what else to say.

Their gazes met as the bell rang. 

“Why _are_ you back, Jackson?” she demanded.

“None of your goddamn business.”

Lydia narrowed her eyes. She loved getting in the last word. “Fine,” she huffed in her ‘I’m not letting this drop’ tone. She reached out, tucking a strand of Jackson’s hair back into place. “See you at lunch then.”

She stalked off to class while Jackson took his sweet time getting his stuff out from his locker. Returning to school mid-semester should have been a challenge, but the administration were too busy celebrating having an old student back. This place should have been shut down ages ago with the string of dead students and teachers piling the halls; _his parents_ should have shut it down as soon as Jackson left the lacrosse field in a body bag. 

The fact that he didn’t remain dead was a miracle he never asked for.

“I see you and Lydia are patching things up,” Danny Mahealani snarked when Jackson sat beside him in class. 

Danny was one of the few people he’d said goodbye to—and the only one he’d bothered to stay in touch with. And after shutting Danny out for months, it’d been nice confiding in him again; Danny could keep secrets, that much he’d proven.

Danny had been apologetic about not admitting to knowing about supernatural shit sooner, but Jackson wasn’t about to hold him accountable for protecting his own self interests; Jackson would always be the champion at the shitty friend competition.

He ignored Danny’s lame attempt at lightening the mood. He’d turned into a kanima because the kanima reflected who he really was inside: a vengeful, cold-blooded snake. An abomination. And hurting Lydia came so easy. 

There was no version of him that wouldn’t have destroyed their relationship eventually.

“I’m quitting lacrosse,” he whispered.

“Probably for the best,” Danny answered without any hesitation. “What about the swim team?”

“I’m quitting that too.”

Danny was taken back. “Is it because of Matt?”

Jackson winced. “The swim coach actually gives a shit about following player stats. He’ll question how I’m _better_ after spending half a year without proper training. No fucking way I’m gonna get away with that.”

He could probably conceal it if he tried, but for how long? The last thing he needed was a steroid investigation that could potentially lead to the discovery of werewolves. Even feuding packs were notoriously united in taking out threats to public exposure.

That was the irony of becoming a werewolf. Standing out was the exact opposite of what needed to be done to keep the secret of his wolf. And competing against humans was a novelty that wore off fast. Jackson had traded in every single thing that mattered in his life for a bite that’d turned into nothing but a nightmare.

 

#

 

The lunch table was conspicuously empty of people who either died or fled. Stiles never knew he’d miss the distinct brand of irritation each and every one of them brought into his life.

Malia Tate poked at her lunch tray, baffled by the meatballs as she lifted one up, sniffed it and gagged. “I’ll stick to meat I can identify,” she said, not having the same trouble with her soggy fries. The simple joy of greasy food wasn’t lost on the girl who’d been stuck as a coyote for eight years. And now she was Stiles’s girlfriend, because such was his life.

Kira Yukimura did most of the chatter these days, persistent to a fault. Stiles helped her fill the space with noise about homework and tests and random stuff from the internet as Scott zoned out, staring into the same nothingness that’d consumed him ever since Allison died in his arms. She’d been Scott’s first love, after all, and also his first big break-up. Scott couldn’t just let her go, and she’d become a shadow hanging over all of them. 

It didn’t stop Kira from trying to be the best girlfriend in the world to Scott. Trying too hard, in fact. She’d persuaded her parents to join Scott and Stiles for Thanksgiving. 

Stiles had invited Malia too, but she’d made a fuss about going camping with her dad, just the two of them out hunting in the woods, doing the one thing she loved most. Stiles understood her need to face the shame of causing the crash that killed her mom and sister. 

It couldn’t have possibly been more awkward than Stiles spending hours ignoring the fact that Kira’s nine-hundred-year-old kitsune mother was responsible for summoning the nogitsune into this world. 

Stiles shook off the thoughts, his breath ragged. The demon fox was gone. It was over. Scott forgave him. 

So why couldn’t his brain get with the program?

“Who’s that?” Kira asked as Jackson entered the lunchroom with Danny by his side. 

“That’s… uh…” Scott broke out of his daze. “So remember when I mentioned a kanima? That’s the guy.”

“Oh,” Kira said, still looking confused. “He doesn’t seem scary.”

“Well,” Stiles chimed in, “You haven’t met him while he’s a scaly lizard-beast, dripping body-paralyzing venom and killing off the entire 2006 swim team.”

“Okay, that is scary.”

“What’s scary?” Danny asked, putting down his tray. Normally this was the cue to stop talking supernatural stuff, but Danny knew more about werewolves than he ever let on. 

Danny hadn’t just figured shit out on his own, no. While helping Jackson recover lost footage of his first full moon—the kanima transformation that Matt erased—Danny’s very human dad revealed that Mahealani didn’t just mean “night of the heavenly moon;” his family was to Maui, Hawaii what the Hale family had once been to Beacon Hills, California. And Danny’s great-grandmother was their alpha werewolf. _Technically._ With Danny’s human mom being a local and Danny being human too, there’d been allowances made.

“We’re just talking about Jackson’s alter-ego,” Stiles said with a shrug.

Danny rolled his eyes. “That’s always a fun topic.”

Jackson sat across from Stiles, Malia, and Lydia, forcing Stiles to stare at his stupidly pretty face as he settled between Danny and Kira, who beamed at him. In Kira’s defense, she never stopped beaming.

“Hi. You don’t know me, but I’m Kira. I transferred to Beacon Hills earlier this semester.”

“Scott’s new girlfriend, the ‘thunder’ kitsune,” Jackson said. “Yeah, I got the memo.”

“So, what are you?” Malia asked, flaring her nostrils. “You don’t smell like a were-lizard.” 

“It was a phase.” Jackson flashed his neon blue eyes. 

Malia’s own neon blue eyes lit up in response to the perceived threat.

“A phase that ended with me ramming him with my Jeep,” Stiles proudly proclaimed. “Before Derek and Peter ripped through his insides. But don’t let the werewolf exterior distract you. He’s still a snake on the inside.”

“That’s rich,” Jackson deadpanned, “Coming from the guy who let a ‘void’ kitsune possess him.”

The blood drained from Stiles’s face.

“He didn’t _let_ anything,” Lydia said, crossing her arms. “Not everyone is responsible for their own demise.”

Jackson wasn’t deterred. “It wouldn’t have stuck around if he wasn’t practically _begging_ for it to take the opportunity.”

No one ever blamed Stiles until now. He chewed on his lower lip as shame threatened to overtake him. Malia put her hand on his shoulder, but instead of being comforting, it just reminded him of how he nearly got her killed too. Hell had to be freezing over if Jackson was the only one who understood.

“Says the guy who redefined the side effects of a werewolf bite,” Lydia said with a cruel smile. Stiles would congratulate her for hating on Jackson if he didn’t feel like she should hate him too. Possibly moreso.

Danny elbowed Jackson. “Tell them about Anita Singh.”

“It doesn’t make any difference if they know.”

“She was a kanima fifty years ago,” Danny said anyway. “But unlike Jackson, both her birth parents were alive at the time. Her mother was human and her father was _the_ alpha of the Singh pack until several years ago.”

“I’m confused,” Kira said. “I thought the kanima required an unresolved past. Like an identity issue or something.”

“Want to talk about issues?” Jackson asserted. “Try being born the only human among five sisters.”

Kira bunched up her shoulders. “I suppose that would do it.”

“Anita handled her father’s bite about as well as Jackson handled Derek’s,” Danny remarked as Jackson gave him the meanest stink eye.

“Meaning very poorly,” Stiles remarked.

“But,” Danny said, “the cool part is once she became a full werewolf, her glowy eyes remained yellow. So if you only go after criminals, like you’re _supposed to_ , your werewolf status doesn’t change.”

“What saved her?” Scott piped up.

“Why the fuck does it matter?” Jackson asked.

Stiles had an idea why. “It was her mother, wasn’t it? You blamed Lydia, and her love confession saved you. I bet Anita blamed her mother, too, and it was her mother’s love that saved her. Wasn’t it? Admit it, Jackson, the kanima is the embodiment of selfishness, and you’re a selfish ass.”

Jackson glared at Stiles sharply. “I couldn’t care less what you think of me. At least I’m owning up to my mistakes. Not everyone gets to be coddled like yourself." 

Scott frowned. "Jackson."

Jackson ignored him. "You’re _soft_ , Stiles, and surrounded by people who care too much about your feelings to admit you fucked up their lives.” He stood, gathering his things. “I don’t even know why I agreed to sit with any of you. This was a fucking waste of my time.”

Jackson left the cafeteria with Danny tailing behind him as Stiles swallowed down the lump in his throat and tried not to think too hard about the palpitations in his chest. He exchanged glances with Lydia, and her harsh demeanor had faded to sad longing. 

“I keep falling in love with killers,” she lamented.

Stiles couldn’t even blame her. Her last boyfriend ended up murdering his original pack with the help of his twin. Aiden had done it for power and a place among the alpha pack, reasoning that he was getting back for the abuse he’d suffered at the hands of his pack. Something Jackson wouldn’t be above doing himself. 

Aiden didn’t get far, though. He was at the bottom of the alpha pack, taking orders instead of giving them. And he was ‘following orders’ when he forced Derek’s claws into Boyd in order for Derek to taste the power an alpha gained by killing its own beta. He couldn’t apologize for something he didn’t feel responsible for, and Lydia couldn’t stop seeing a murderer in him. 

Ultimately, Aiden became desperate to join Scott’s pack and get Lydia back; he ended up dying while trying to redeem himself.

It’d be _so easy_ for Jackson to shift blame onto Matt Daehler and Gerard Argent. _Following orders_ was literally how the kanima functioned. Even Stiles could acknowledge those sociopaths were at fault _after_ Jackson made himself an abomination. But Jackson wasn’t following in Aiden’s shoes. He was taking the full responsibility, and it made no sense.

 

#

 

Danny stopped Jackson in the hall. “What the hell was that about?”

Jackson lowered his voice to a grave whisper. “Why the fuck did you throw me under a bus?”

“How? By explaining your situation?”

“You made me look weak and sorry for myself. You know what feeling sorry for myself gets?” he asked through his teeth. “Broken ribs, spit in my eye, and steel-toed boots to my face.” 

Danny’s eyes widened in horror. “Shit, man, I’m sorry. You never said—”

“Just stop. I’m done trying to explain myself to people who don’t give a fuck about sob stories. I don’t need anymore targets painted on my back.”

“You got it,” Danny said. “And if it means anything, the plastic surgery is flawless.” 

Jackson let the joke slide. He missed Danny too much. 

He still regretted not listening to Danny when the werewolf thing started. Danny had taken the hint and stopped interfering, sticking to the background unless Jackson needed him for something. 

Jackson was surprised he didn’t lose Danny completely. 

“We still on for studying at my place tonight?” Danny asked.

Jackson didn’t deserve Danny, but he needed all the help he could get catching up in classes. His hiatus extended into London, where he thought he’d take a year off before integrating into the British school system. Since that plan fell through, he was back in the States, needing to worry about the SATs and whatever tests and essays and projects the teachers were eager to pile on top of it. He couldn’t do anything about his werewolf life, but he was _not_ going to slip up whatever he had left of his human life.

“Yeah,” he said sheepishly, unable to stay mad at Danny.

Danny smiled and punched him playfully. “Come on, I can’t have you falling any lower than you already have.”

“Don’t tempt me. I’d take that as a challenge and win.”


	2. Chapter 2

_…Stiles…_

_Let me in, Stiles._

_LET._

_ME._

_IN._

Stiles’s eyes shot open as he banged his elbow against his bedstand. Even awake, he could still see the bandaged corpse with shark-like teeth, clanging against the locker Stiles was trapped inside. His heart hammered in his chest as he only heard blood pounding in his ears. He rubbed the heel of his hands into his eyes, swallowing around his impossibly dry mouth. The metallic taste of misery and pain clung to his tongue, a reminder of the insatiable hunger of the fox. 

He wiped the beads of cold sweat off his forehead as he checked the time. 

One in the morning. 

He counted his fingers. 

All ten there and accounted for. 

He took a shaky breath and checked the time again. 

Still one a.m. 

He recounted his fingers, just to really make certain this wasn’t another dream within a dream, another opportunity to scream himself into consciousness. He was done dragging other people into this.

 

#

 

Jackson knew he wouldn’t be able to escape for long, but he still avoided everyone at lunch the next day by heading to the library. Lydia had grudgingly given him some of her notebooks to study from, even though she wanted nothing to do with him. Jackson thought it’d be useless, but Lydia’s notes were pretty spot on once she stopped drawing trees everywhere.

He thought back to him dumping her and how he called her dead weight. Apparently she wasn’t the air-headed strawberry blonde she made herself out to be; just another thing she kept from him all those years they were together.

He tried not to let that weigh him down as he semi-focused on his work. Due to his time in London, his senses were finely tuned to making sure no one could take him by surprise. He had everyone in his vicinity mentally mapped, and he could hear Stiles coming even before the smell of Doritos, Axe, and… something else? 

“What do you want, Stiles?” he asked before looking up.

Stiles wasn’t deterred as he slammed both hands on the table, gaining the brief attention from other students. They quickly returned to their work, having better things to do than acknowledging whatever trouble Stiles was starting.

“You know,” Stiles said, “After Lydia originally translated the bestiary, we thought the kanima needed a friend. Scott pitied you for having no one.”

Jackson threw down his pencil. “How can I forget? I was right there, shackled in your stolen prison van, when you insisted it’d be easiest to just kill me.”

Stiles’s jaw dropped. Jackson had forgot what it was like dealing with people not trained to lie to werewolves. Stiles’s reaction was unfiltered, unpolished, written on his face for the world to see. “You _heard_?”

“Wasn’t a true werewolf but managed the super-hearing,” Jackson said coolly, even though he’d cried at realizing he really was alone, having rid himself of Danny and Lydia, the two closest people he had.

Stiles dropped to the seat opposite of him. “Well, I take back what we said that day. You _do_ have people, you self-absorbed asshole. The Whittemores saw this perfect little newborn and decided they want you in their life. They took you in and raised you, called you their son. Yet you go nuts like no one in the world loves you. I _still_ can’t believe you never say ‘I love you’ to your parents. Of all the ways I could have blown our cover, it was ending a text with those words. That is the saddest tell, Jackson. There’s nothing wrong with being adopted.”

Except there was. No matter how much his adoptive parents said they loved him, it couldn’t make up for the feeling that he’d been robbed. Cheated. A part of him ripped away. It was like something was constantly missing in his life ever since he found out, and he couldn’t be consoled.

“Tell me,” he asked, “what would you have done if you woke up one day to find out you’re not whatever-the-Stilinskis-named-you, you’re just a kid named and dressed and raised to be Dumbass Stilinski? What would you do with that?”

“It wouldn’t give me license to be an asswipe, that’s for certain.” Stiles’s brows knit together. “But I’d like to believe I’d still love my mom and dad with all my heart because they’d raised me with love in theirs. I’d feel _special_ for being chosen.”

“But it’d gnaw at you, wouldn’t it? Their love would never feel like it’s enough.”

“I don’t know… maybe? I guess I wouldn’t be able to rest until I understood where I came from, how I came to be. Losing my mom destroyed me, so I know a thing about having a hole in your chest. It fucking hurts. But there’s no filling it, Jackson. It’s just there, like the Grand Canyon. Those gashes are never going to close. All you can do is _deal_.”

“You never had to _deal_ with an extended family abandoning you too,” Jackson sneered. “Yeah, didn’t think about that, did you? My bio parents didn’t exist in a vacuum. I have grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins… and more. I’ve checked. But you don’t see any one of them volunteering to raise me. And not a single fucking one of them showed up after my parents died. So _excuse me_ for not meeting your criteria for how I should feel about losing my _entire_ family.”

“Shit,” Stiles exhaled. “I always just assumed… But have you tried getting in contact with any of them? I mean, that’s what I’d do. But I’m not you. Maybe they just never got the news you were born?”

“It’s pointless now.” He’d grown up dreaming of becoming good enough for his bio family to find him and take him in. To just acknowledge his existence so _something_ could snap back into place in his chest. And now that he finally learned who they were, he didn’t want anything to do with them. Introducing himself wasn’t going to bring him the peace of mind he’d always wanted. “They may as well be dead to me.”

 

#

 

Stiles tapped his finger on the desk as Jackson started packing up his things.

He’d known Jackson since the first grade, and it was always people making excuses for why he was so abrasive and in-your-face—including Scott, who Jackson would have walked all over if Stiles hadn’t been around. Jackson was a goddamn golden child who could do no wrong, and he made sure no one forgot it for a minute as everyone bent over backwards to please a kid who only ever cared about himself. Even Mr. Harris had been kind to Jackson, and that man was a serial killing puppy-kicker. 

Stiles was never going to get it. Jackson had everything he could have possibly dreamed of: the money, the looks, the hottest girl in school. It’s how Jackson’s head got stuck up his ass. Jackson didn’t know life existed outside the spotlight. He didn’t even register Scott’s or Stiles’s existence until after Scott got Bit. And the second Scott began to surpass him, Jackson’s ego couldn’t take it. He went off the deep end. If he’d just been fucking thankful for all the things he still had, he wouldn’t have landed himself in the hands of sociopaths. He wouldn’t have needed to flee like a coward to London, and he wouldn’t be back in Beacon Hills acting like there was ever a backbone in him.

“I always wondered how my life would be different if I’d accepted Peter’s offer to bite me,” Stiles said, and Jackson froze. “Peter thought I was lying when I said I didn’t want it, but what I really didn’t want was to ruin my life the way I’d ruined Scott’s when we went out into the woods that day. Peter’s bite screwed up Scott’s life, and I had too many people counting on me to roll the dice. So I stopped myself from saying screw it, juice me up, I’m tired of lagging behind Scott…” Stiles glared his way, “Unlike _some people_.”

Jackson growled. “You should have just let Peter bite you. It’d let you _feel_ how much I don’t care about your delusional moral high ground.”

“At least I never ruined my life for a power high.”

“You sure about that?” He met Stiles’s glare with his own. “Because you lust for power as much as anyone, Stiles—don’t even try to lie, I’ll hear it. You think you’re above it all, but you’re not immune to what that denial does to a person. I may have chased the bite, but you… you left yourself _hungry_. And people like you, they’re the worst. They end up selling their souls for just a _taste_ of what they won’t admit they crave. How long did you think you could go before the desperation snuck up on you, huh? That’s how the nogitsune found you, _wasn’t it?_ ”

The nogitsune had _chosen_ him. It didn’t just want anyone, it’d wanted _him_.

And he let it in.

 

#

 

Jackson smelled it first—the reek of battery acid emanating off Stiles as his gaze glazed over.

“Stiles?”

Stiles didn’t react, and that was the scariest part of all.

Jackson cursed under his breath. Panic attacks were a new concept to him. He’d never had one until he went to London, and it’d been downhill from there. But he’d had damn good reason to panic.

“Stiles, you need to breathe,” he said as he stood slowly, refusing to make a scene. They were _lucky_ everyone with a brain knew to ignore Stiles, in fear of Stiles getting _ideas_. It was impossible _not_ to notice Stiles otherwise. Stiles would have had a police record as thick as the Harry Potter series if his dad’s friends at the station weren’t constantly dropping charges and if the school deans didn’t take pity on him being a flaily spaz. 

Stiles was hunched over as Jackson swallowed down his reluctance as he covered the back of Stiles’s neck with his palm. Pain caused inflammation, and absorbing it was anti-inflammatory, like dosing someone with cortisone. The only reason he knew was because Dominic tried taking his pain out of desperation… and it’d worked.

He closed his eyes as Stiles’s pain burned through him, deep and aching. Whatever the nogitsune did to him, supernatural Advil wasn’t going to cut it…

 

#

 

Stiles’s heart jumped into his throat and lodged itself in there. He couldn’t breathe. He was back in his room, in his dream—the dream within a dream. Waking up next to Lydia and not understanding why she was there or why his door was ajar. He needed to close the door. Needed to. In spite of her pleas to get back in bed, to go back to sleep. Leave it alone. He was supposed to close it. But he was opening it wider and stepping across the threshold. He treaded out into the field where the nemeton stood, where the nogitsune was stowed away…

And then tingling sensation pooled into the back of his neck as the iron grip loosened around his lungs. He took in a shuddering breath, his pulse racing as he reoriented himself. He was hunched over the desk, a shadow looming above him. When he glanced up, Jackson stepped away, black lines pulsing up his forearm before vanishing. Stiles scratched at the spot Jackson’s hand had touched, his heart continuing to hammer.

“What did you _do_?” he rasped.

Jackson leaned against the table, sweat beading on his forehead. “What do you think I did? I took your pain.”

Stiles blinked as he scratched at the tingling sensation. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Yeah, well, consider it a lucky discovery,” Jackson said offhandedly. 

Stiles curled his fingers one by one, counting to ten over and over again. “I don’t feel lucky.”

He always understood some subconscious part of him got seduced by the nogitsune’s lure of power. And it _had_ poured its power into the veins of his body—a body that was no longer his to use. It was like being promised a race car and getting run over by it. He’d been fooled into thinking he’d be allowed to drive it. He lost hours from his days until he had none left to give, becoming nothing more than food for the parasite. 

“And how do you think I feel being a walking medicine cabinet?”

“But… why?”

Jackson _tsked_. “I forgot you’re _soft_. I’d prefer not to get on Scott’s shit list.”

“What shit list? Scott only has people he trusts and people he trusts _less_. He’d just assume you’d learned your lesson or something.”

“Whatever.” Jackson rolled his eyes and began packing.

 

#

 

Jackson had better things to do than attend to a broken Stiles. He had his hands full with his own messes.

“You know the worst part about a demon possession?” Stiles asked with a grim expression. 

“That it hasn’t made you less annoying?”

“People don’t let you take responsibility. I did a lot of bad things when the nogitsune took my body. I left a whole trail of death and misery behind me. And even though it was never _me_ , I was there, and I… I killed innocent people for the thrill of it. Abused my friends’ trust like it was a silly game. And no one gets that I _felt_ everything. Every single sensation, whether I wanted to or not. And…” 

Stiles paused and filed his hand through his hair.

“I can’t believe of all people you’re the one I’m telling this to. But the nogitsune didn’t just _imitate_ me. It tapped into every thought I ever had so it could live out the worst possible version of me. Okay, so I may have sometimes fantasized about being rid of the police station. But the nogitsune _bombed it_. I wanted to remind Scott that he wouldn’t be here without me. And the nogitsune twisted a blade in his gut and taunted him with how much smarter it was than him. God, I dreamed of just _taking_ Lydia, and the fox kidnapped her for its _pleasure_.”

Jackson crossed his arms to keep himself from shuddering. “At least they’re _your own_ sick fantasies and not someone else’s.”

“How the hell do people still think I’m the good guy?”

“Because they _want_ you to be one of the good guys. And a demon getting off on your private torture porn isn’t going to change their minds.”

“Everyone wants to assume I’m above getting a perverse satisfaction from the destruction I caused.” Stiles squirmed, scowling and ruffling his hair, guilt-ridden and ashamed. “And the fucked up part is there’s nothing stopping me from continuing what it started. I know what it feels like to be evil, and… you don’t know what it’s like watching your best friend unconsciously flinch away from you and then claim it was nothing. If I’m going to be evil, I wouldn’t mind being evil if it was on my terms. I’d want to own it. I’d want a road in Hell named after me.”

“What about the consequences?”

“But I let it in. Maybe I _wanted_ it to take over. Maybe I needed the demon to finally express the evil already inside me.”

“Yeah? So what’s stopping you? Why do you act like you’ve got a conscience left in you, huh?”

“I’m tired of being treating like a harmless human. I’m only harmless because I’m surrounded by a supernatural clusterfuck.”

“You’re harmless because deep down you’re still innocent.”

Stiles leered at him. “So you’re on their side now?”

“I’m on _my_ side. And my side says you never needed a demon to express yourself. You’re hazardous all on your own. It’s probably _why_ the demon chose you. And you don’t know the meaning of holding back. _I_ should know,” Jackson mocked.

Stiles had punched him in the face that night they got trapped at school with a rampaging Peter. All because he’d wanted Stiles to call the police to deal with it and Stiles didn’t want to risk his father getting harmed. What was the point of having a Sheriff for a father if Stiles couldn’t assemble a force on demand? 

“But it still used me.” Stiles jiggled his leg. “And now that I know what it’s like to kill someone… spilling blood is as easy as… as popping balloons. It’s like we’re all just walking corpses, each and every one of us.”

Jackson nodded grimly. “That much we have in common.”

“How do you keep living knowing everyone is _made_ to fade into oblivion?”

“If you’re going through hell, keep going.”

Stiles’s eyes widened. “What did you say?”

Jackson shrugged. “Anita has as a paperweight with that Churchill quote. I used to stare at it a lot during our meet-ups. ‘If you’re going through hell, keep going.’”

“Ms. Morrell used that quote on me. When I went to therapy…” Stiles met Jackson’s gaze. “The day before Gerard put his grand plans into motion. The day before you…” 

Stiles didn’t get to finish before Jackson was up again. He thought he was over it. It’d been months since he last threw up at the memory of Gerard, but it’d also been months since he had to face the people who were actually there when everything went horribly wrong. Matt made him do some heinous things, but Gerard… he made him kill himself. 

Stiles didn’t stop him as he fled to the nearest bathroom.

And Stiles didn’t pester him the rest of the day either.


	3. Chapter 3

Jackson’s wolf paced under his skin, restless, scratching under the surface. He needed to be away from people… away from civilization… just until the full moon passed.

At least this month it fell on a Saturday. He holed up in his room until the sun started setting early in the afternoon. Everything would be okay as soon as he drove out to the preserve and stayed for as long as it took to calm his wolf.

A mild December breeze blew through his car’s window as the sun bathed the streets in an orange glow. 

After he’d been bitten, he’d refused to join Derek’s pack, and Derek never accepted him as a beta since, merely training him out of obligation. But Jackson switched anchors after he moved to London, which meant starting from scratch. He just had to find the headspace, and he knew where to look. 

He repeated the Hale’s mantra for anchoring the wolf. _Alpha, beta, omega_. Derek had had one way of interpreting it, Jackson had another— _alpha_ , what he once wanted to be; _beta_ , what he should have been; _omega_ , what he would always be. He wasn’t about to join the Mahealanis as a charity case.

_Alpha, beta, omega._

His Porsche complained as he took it off the main road and followed a familiar dirt path down to the burnt Hale house. The place where Derek decided killing Jackson would ensure everyone else’s safety. 

Now that he was a werewolf himself, he understood the fear of having an untrustworthy human running loose while hunters were around. Didn’t mean he forgave Derek. The man intended to murder a stupid, _crying_ teen in cold blood as a precaution, but not before rubbing in how no one was coming for Jackson—because at the end of the day, no one cared that he was captain of the lacrosse team or drove a nice car. As though Derek wasn’t a former jock from a wealthy family. Just because Derek had no one to care about him anymore didn’t mean he had to shit on Jackson out of spite.

But there _was_ one idiot who cared enough about Jackson to save him: Scott McCall. And he fought off Derek on Jackson’s behalf… before the hunters arrived with guns blazing. Jackson’s blood boiled at the thought.

He used to be one of Beacon Hills High’s most prized students, the straight-A top athlete who everyone wanted to be or be with. And it was never was enough for Lydia, even before Coach Finstock overlooked how an asthmatic player could become MVP-level in the blink of an eye. She outright said she wouldn’t date a loser, let alone one that got incapacitated on the field. She even rubbed it in by cheering for Scott while Jackson went out of his mind to regain what McCall took from him.

He’d been too preoccupied with his dreams of regaining his former glory to see the glaring trap. Scott _told_ him only an alpha could grant the Bite, and yet he still followed Derek, a shady beta wolf, into an abandoned burnt building with the promise of granting a gift.

And when Derek’s bite didn’t work, he had no way of knowing that Lydia’s ‘immunity’ to Peter’s bite was because she was a banshee and that his own failure to turn had been a mutation that came from within. But he preferred the guilt to the pain of her tampering with his life _again_. 

Christ, Jackson hated this place.

_Alpha, beta, omega._

He parked his car and gently squeezed the key ring, focusing on the press of metal digging into his skin. The darkened house was nothing like the old photos of it. It used to stand tall, its exterior covered in the sort of flourishes common in Second Empire style homes. Now, the decayed thing sagged into itself, too gray and desolate and cavernous to ever be considered a home. 

It came with the pervasive memory of the taste of smoke and burning flesh in the back of his throat. Nightmares where he could still hear the shrill ringing of strangers shrieking and crying, dying with him in a prison of fire, when he awoke. And his wolf whined at the grief of losing a family that had never been his.

He had only one decent memory here, and that’d been of setting Peter Hale on fire. A bittersweet victory. It was, after all, his fault Lydia was out on the lacrosse field looking for him the night of the formal. Peter hospitalized her and later found a loophole to escape death. 

Hindsight did him no good now.

He peered into the darkness, wondering whether Derek would make an appearance. He scratched at the scar left behind on his neck from Derek’s infected claws all those ages ago. He was finished with his days of trailing after Derek like a desperate sap, but he’d never have closure without one last conversation. Derek preferred the deserted rail depot during full moons, but without a trainee or a pack, Derek could be anywhere; he didn’t need the physical reminder of his fatal mistake in trusting Kate Argent. But Derek would show if he knew Jackson was in town. He was always a creeper at heart.

Headlights appeared in Jackson’s rearview mirror, too wide and high to be from Derek’s Camaro. 

Jackson cursed under his breath when he recognized the Jeep. He didn’t need Stiles’s meddling, not tonight. Not while he needed to rein in his bloodlust.

He concentrated on breathing as Stiles parked behind him, Jeep fuming and clanking with the same energy as its owner. Jackson managed to pull back his claws before shoving his hands into his red hoodie and greeting the pest. 

“Why did I ever drop that restraining order?” he asked.

“Nice to see you too, Jackson,” Stiles said, surveying the Hale house. “What are you doing out here? Waiting for Derek?”

Jackson held down the growl in his chest. “No.” 

“So just visiting for old time’s sake?” Stiles mused.

“Better question is why _you’re_ here.”

“Why do you think?” Stiles said with a derisive grin. “I’m in charge of watching you. Scott’s taking care of Malia, so that leaves you as the only were-animal to be concerned about. Danny may have collaborated in the effort. With an outrageous bribe. You should be proud, you don’t come cheap.”

Jackson felt the prick of his fangs extending. He told Danny where he was going so Danny had something to explain to the police if Jackson never returned. If Danny sold him out, it better have cost Stiles dearly or Jackson was never going to forgive him.

_Alpha, beta, omega._

“Your sideburns are showing,” Stiles commented before pointing with his thumb in a vague direction behind him. “If you can keep you cool a bit longer, I know a good spot to camp out for the night.”

Jackson wanted to argue, but what was the use? Stiles wasn’t going to leave. Either the guy had a legitimate plan or there’d be a freshly dead body in the woods. Jackson wasn’t sure which he had to worry about more. If Dominic was here… fuck, the last thing he needed now was to think about Dominic.

As they drove deeper into the preserve, Jackson’s sports car rattling as the suspension failed to handle the rocks and tree roots jutting from the earth. He used to care about damaging his ride, but it didn’t seem so important anymore. His parents would buy him a new one, just like they’d buy him anything else to try to win back his love.

The clearing they stopped at gave Jackson déjà vu. He surveyed the area, realizing it was the preserve’s lookout point. The view from the cliff was perfect, a scenic layout of Beacon Hills at dusk, streets glowing with lamp posts and traffic lights and windows of lived-in homes. And with the days counting down to Christmas, the houses were also lit with deceptively cheerful and bright displays.

Stiles lugged out a bag full of leather cuffs and heavy metal chains with the confidence of someone used to containing werewolves and having a certain lifestyle. Jackson rolled his eyes especially hard when Stiles took out a camp light and told him to find a tree. This was going to be a long night.

Stiles set to work fastening Jackson to the thick and sturdy trunk of a tree several yards from the cliff. Jackson took short breaths, clenching his jaw as Stiles locked his wrists into the leather cuffs. This close to Stiles, he couldn’t help but _notice_ Stiles: the upturned nose, the bow of his full lips, the round brown eyes that knew too much and too little at the same time. Shadows fell across the sharp edges of a white face—so similar to Dominic’s dark brown—that used to be softer. Even Stiles’s hair was longer, jutting out in haphazard spikes. 

On a normal day, he could shove the thoughts down into the recesses of his mind, but his wolf wasn’t letting him ignore the distinctness of that _something else_ in Stiles’s scent, tickling Jackson’s nose in wisps that sent all the wrong signals to his primal brain. And Stiles was _touching_ him. He bit the inside of his cheek until the stinging pain and coppery tang flooded his senses. 

The chains were bulky, and the leather on the cuffs was only meant as a cushion from the metal. The last time he got chained was with Derek ‘helping’ him through the full moon, back when he was just beginning to grasp how to anchor himself. And his vision had turned red when Derek staked his shoulder with a railroad spike, causing him to involuntarily jerk against the prong collar that linked him to the cage. The spikes tightened around his throat, piercing his skin with needle precision, and his wolf receded with its tail between its legs.

Derek had _smirked_. “I should say pain makes you human, but you’ll always be a snake to me.”

Jackson focused on that disgust to get through the rest of Stiles’s fiddling. There was a second chain that Stiles wrapped around the trunk to secure him in place, binding his upper body to the tree. 

For better or worse, he was stuck to this tree for the night. And he had no guarantee Stiles wouldn’t leave him to rot. Good thing he remembered to move his phone to the front pocket of his sweats. And he had reception. All he really had to worry about was Danny showing up with clippers before something else found him first. 

“It’s funny,” Stiles said as he finished his work and sat cross-legged across from him. “Last time we were here, you were chained up in the prison van.”

Jackson groaned wearily as he brought his knees to his chest. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Hey, look on the bright side: it’s not kidnapping this time.” 

“No, it’s just coerced captivity.”

“It’s either this or believing you’ve improved your control in the last eight months. I’d rather this. You’re not exactly human on your best days.”

Jackson rolled his eyes. “I see you’ve been talking to Derek.”

“Derek?” Stiles scratched his neck. “I haven’t seen him since…” he swallowed, “since we defeated the nogitsune.”

“Is that before or after he stopped being alpha?”

“No one’s told you?”

“You overestimate my willingness to hear about that sadistic freak.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “Well, that ‘sadistic freak’ used up his alpha powers to save his younger sister.”

Jackson sat up straighter. “Since when does he have a living sister?”

“Since Cora survived the fire and fled to Argentina. She just happened to return long enough to nearly die again. She’s back in Argentina, and I don’t blame her.”

Jackson scraped his clawed hand along a protruding root. “Cora,” he said under his breath.

“Yeah, Deucalion kidnapped her along with Boyd and Erica… Erica didn’t survive.”

Jackson slumped against the tree, chains rattling as he rested the back of his head against the rough bark. “In the seventies, Deucalion used to be part of another pack in England. He had this vision of uniting England under a single ruler, but his plan to kill his alpha was thwarted. So he moved to the States, and apparently tried another takeover as alpha of alphas. It’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. There’s no control if every member of your pack can create more pack. It’s anarchy.”

Stiles chewed his lip. “Without Deucalion, there wouldn’t have been the darach, and without the darach, the nogitsune wouldn’t have been released.”

“Yeah? I hear that Deucalion also instigated the Hale and Argent blood feud. And if Gerard Argent hadn’t blinded him, there wouldn’t have been mutiny in Deucalion’s pack. There wouldn’t have been the seed for a join-or-die campaign to create the ultimate pack.”

“Dude, you an expert on packs politics now?”

“By virtue of _living_ with an established pack and dealing with two other established packs, yes, I am more of an expert than any of you.”

Stiles sat upright, on full alert. “What’s the report on the other London packs?”

“They’re content with staying where they are, if that’s what you’re worried about. Between territory squabbles and underground dealings, they have no interest in American Transylvania.”

Stiles palmed his face. “God. You know what the _FBI_ has Beacon Hills labeled as? The ‘Bermuda Triangle of homicides, disappearances, and strange occurrences.’ We’re one vampire away from becoming a tourist attraction. But, hey, with our luck, instead of vampires, we’ll get overrun by harpies or ghouls or Satan himself.”

Jackson snorted at the idea. There were an infinite number of things that could overrun a town that was never going to be normal or safe again. That delusion was buried with a mound of bodies.

“Man, if Beacon Hills is so dangerous,” Stiles said. “What brings _you_ here?”

“Everywhere is dangerous. This place just happens to be more creative about it.”

“Creative,” Stiles said mockingly, but he didn’t say any more.

The long, awkward silence that followed was enough to make Jackson’s skin crawl with how much his wolf was itching to be free. Stiles took the break to grab some sandwiches from his Jeep, offering Jackson a deli-bought ham and cheese with a bottle of water, which Jackson accepted without protest. 

Stiles crinkled the plastic wrapper off his turkey club sandwich before biting in. With his mouth still partially full, he asked, “So, ever since our conversation the other day, I’ve been thinking. If your adoption angst is what made you the kanima, what does Lydia’s love have to do with it?”

Jackson gave him a sharp look, not sure whether to be pissed that it took Stiles this long realize or that Stiles was realizing it at all. “It doesn’t.”

Stiles tilted his head, his expression befuddled. “Huh. I guess her banshee powers were activated by then. She must have somehow acted as a proxy, connecting you to the love of—”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Stiles, this isn’t a fairy tale. Love was never going to be the answer. I heard Lydia call my name, and it pulled me out of the kanima’s haze. But there’s only one way this ends: with the kanima dying by the hand of the alpha who created it.”

Stiles eyed him. “What about the kanima 2.0 with the cocoon and the almost having wings?”

His stomach cramped as he put down his food. “Every kanima has a secondary, stronger form that’s only activated after… a critical blow.”

And Gerard knew it. The kanima hadn’t known who Jackson was, but it understood the importance of keeping them both alive. But the transformation got cut short, leaving the kanima weak and susceptible to being run over by a certain someone in his Jeep. 

Stiles fiddled with the plastic hanging off his sandwich. “Must have sucked finding out it wasn’t Lydia’s love that saved you.”

“I always knew… in the back of my mind I knew.” He recalled the heat of Lydia’s body as he hugged her after the wolf took up the spot the kanima had vacated. It’d been the closest thing to an anchor he’d felt since. “But it was still nice having someone to hold when it was over.”

“Is that why you continued being cruel to her?” Stiles asked bitterly.

“I wasn’t…” Jackson shook his head in frustration. “Anything was better than staying Beacon Hills.”

“Uh huh.” Stiles’s tone was cold and accusatory. “Lydia puts her safety on the line to hand you back your key… literally confesses her undying love for you… and you can’t even _text her_ that you’re leaving? She had to find out from your parents? You were so keen on breaking up with her over texts the first time. Couldn’t even manage that much, could you?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“No, I _understand_. It’s a good thing love wasn’t the answer because people throwing themselves at your feet is just a Tuesday. You wouldn’t be able to tell love from a hole in the wall. It’s a miracle you still have people left who manage to give a shit about you. If it were up to me, you wouldn’t deserve _anyone’s_ love.”

Heat rose up Jackson’s face. He surged forward, yanking on the chains with all his strength. Metal grazed the bark as Stiles scuttled backwards, sweat beading on his brow. Jackson pulled and twisted and rattled, willing himself to wrench out of this prison. He knew hurting Alpha McCall’s right-hand idiot would be the end of him, and he no longer cared. 

But no matter how hard he tried, Stiles had been thorough. Not one of the locks or chain links popped out of place. His energy weakened faster than the binds, and he collapsed against the trunk in defeat, his face flushed from anger and shame as he heaved for air.

“Damn, Jackson,” Stiles said, returning to his spot, acting like he was unaffected even as his heart kept racing. “With a temper like yours, I’m surprised you lasted as long as you did in London. You must have fucked up big time if the Singh pack kicked you out. And, yeah, I’ve concluded you were kicked out since I doubt you’d bother showing your face in Beacon Hills if everything remained peachy in Britain. So, the million dollar question: what did you do to piss off the Singhs?”

Jackson sucked in a breath through his fangs. After this he was moving to Canada like Dominic wanted him to, because the position he was in now—unable to escape and under the influence of his wolf—left him as nothing more than a cornered animal exerting the last of its strength before succumbing to its inevitable end. “What difference does it make to you?”

“I have to know what sort of baggage you’re carrying and whether that means more trouble for us. You know, because I actually care about my loved ones.”

“No one’s going out of their way for a lone wolf who doesn’t have a chance at lasting on his own. But you’ll be happy to hear there’s a bounty on my head if I ever step foot on the Isles again.”

“Jesus, Jackson. You sound like you’ve killed someone.”

“I already have a killer’s eyes.” And claws and beastly face that’d be enough to warn any sensible human off. Stiles wasn’t sensible, though. 

“Yeah, but that’s on a technicality. Just as Derek mercy-killed his first love and Malia lost control during the crash. You were a kanima with horrible masters.”

If only he hadn’t heard worse stories from others. Technicalities were meaningless in the end.

“Then tell me,” he asked. “What’s the selling point of a former-kanima American expat to an established English pack? And it’s not my money; they’ve got enough old wealth to put the entire Whittemore line to shame.”

Stiles sat in contemplative silence.

“This isn’t a trick question, Stiles. I was only useful as a killer to them.” Tears stung his eyes as he blinked it away. It used to destroy him having to pull the trigger. Like being stuck in a waking nightmare, forever a kanima with blood soaking into his skin. 

Stiles seized up as his eyes bulged in horror. “No! No. That’s fucking wrong. They can’t… You can’t be forced to kill people just because your eyes are a certain way. How did Anita allow this?”

“Anita protected me in the only way she knew how.”

“Which was shit! Why didn’t you ask the Mahealani pack for help?”

“Alpha Mahealani would accept me out of pity. And I’d always be _other_ to them. I wasn’t ever _other_ with Anita. If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t have sanctuary anywhere else. Too many things out there want omegas dead. _Derek_ wants me dead. And I’ve already had practice killing on demand—Matt made sure of it—so what did I have to lose?”

“Besides your _soul_?”

Jackson laughed as the notion, the sound too low and predatory even for him. He had gained favor by being a perfect shot, and only after he shut down the part of his mind that kept resisting. “The world doesn’t fucking care. Out there, if you’re not lucky enough to be alpha, you can’t be _trusted_ without golden eyes… but they’ve found their loopholes. Get someone else to pull the trigger, and you keep your _virtue_.”

Stiles’s voice shook with bottled rage. “And where does that leave the humans? They’re part of packs too. They don’t have changing eyes.”

“Humans are harder to heal. You can’t impose pack bonds on them. And you can’t dangle the death sentence that is being omega.”

His first panic attack was the day he nearly let his first mark slip away. But there was only so many times Dominic could help him out before he risked becoming an addict on top of it all. 

“What the fuck?” Stiles exclaimed. “They forced you to kill people for membership in their pack?”

“Not membership,” he clarified as it burned like acid on his tongue. “ _Sanctuary_. If the wolves wouldn’t allow Anita to be their alpha, you think they’d allow me to join at all?”

“Wait, she’s not even alpha?”

“As much as her father wanted to pass it on to her, there’s no wiping the stain of a kanima. You carry the mutation the rest of your life. And I don’t have golden eyes to hide behind. The most Anita could do with her authority was grant me sanctuary, but _only_ if I proved my loyalty in the eyes of the Singh pack. Though my loyalty was _always_ under scrutiny.”

And after a while, putting a bullet into someone became rote. Being splattered in blood and gore became routine, and he could finally find some peace in his personal hell.

Stiles stank of regret as he hesitantly asked, “Do I even want to know how you fucked up before fleeing for your life?”

“I didn’t fuck up,” Jackson forced out. The girl was just a bystander, at the wrong place at the wrong time, knowing all the wrong people. As numb as Jackson had become, he’d reached a line he couldn’t cross. “I saved my mark’s life.”

He dragged her to the airport, paid for her ticket, told her to change her name and start as someone new. She bawled as she understood how screwed she was, pregnant and alone, with no guarantee that she’d ever be safe again. But it was still the most he’d ever given anyone. And it’d never be enough. 

He folded his arms over his knees as his wolf curled into a ball, too tired to feel the moon anymore.

 

#

 

Stiles bit his nail. Jackson sold his soul for a sense of belonging and then he gave it all up for a shred of decency, _knowing_ he’d get punished for acting on it. The part of Stiles that wanted to call bullshit was the same part that wanted Jackson to be a manipulative liar. But the real Jackson was god-awful at lying under pressure. Stiles had first-hand experience with _that_. And with the effort it took to pry any information out, Jackson _really_ didn’t want him to know, which only made it _more_ truthful.

“Do you regret it?” Stiles asked gravely.

“No,” Jackson said, and he sounded ashamed of it, as though he wished he did. His nostrils flared as his wolfy features smoothed out, leaving nothing but a lost teenager behind. 

They finished eating in silence, and neither of them spoke for a long time after. No matter what Stiles thought of Jackson, Jackson had _tried_ to do good. It’d never make up for the blood he already shed, but it was _something_ , even if Jackson had nothing to show for it but exile and Stiles’s company.

Stiles was reminded of the rescued dogs at Dr. Deaton’s clinic, sitting in their cages with those sad eyes, unsure whether they had a future ahead of them. And the saddest were the dogs coming from illegal fighting rings, their future hinging on a successful rehabilitation. 

“I don’t know how you keep doing this to yourself,” Stiles said. “You keep chasing after greener pasture, and you end up jumping into green sewage.” 

Jackson shook his head with a scowl. “You don’t know what it’s like watching all your hard work go down the drain for an idiot who stumbles onto superpowers.”

“You don’t know what hard work is.”

“Fuck you,” Jackson spat. “I fucking _earned_ being captain of the lacrosse team. As a _sophomore_ , no less. I put in the sweat and the hours, and all McCall ever had to do was get bitten.”

“One,” Stiles hissed, “he never fucking asked for it, and two, it cured the asthma that was holding him back.”

“It gave him inhuman speed, strength, and reflexes that no amount of practice could ever compete with. That’s _cheating_.”

“Are you going to claim Scott becoming true alpha was cheating too?”

Jackson groused, and Stiles knew he had him. Scott got bit against his will and his body still managed to readily accept the bite. And Scott became a true alpha by never giving into the temptation to kill no matter how much madness was thrown his way. 

“I’m glad you left when you did,” Stiles said vehemently. “I’m glad you weren’t around to see Scott become something greater than you’ll ever be. Who knows what stupid shit you’d have done to try to overthrow him. If Deucalion tried to recruit _you_ into the alpha pack, you’d betray us in a heartbeat. It would take _nothing_ to corrupt you.”

Jackson’s expression didn’t change, and Stiles suspected Jackson’s ego was too punctured to do anything but hang there and take it. 

Good.

“Face it, Jackson, it’s your hate and fury and vindictiveness that made you reject the bite and turn into a monster. Kanima or not, you’d still end up exactly where you are, chasing a carrot that will always be out of your reach. Because if it wasn’t werewolves, it’d be steroids or drugs or whatever it took to restore your glory. You’d do _anything_ to stay on top. Including getting blood on your hands. No one’s swindled you besides yourself.”

Jackson mumbled something under the blowing wind, something along the lines of “Yeah, right.”

“Speak up, I don’t have werewolf hearing.”

“You’re right,” Jackson grit out a bit louder.

Stiles blinked in disbelief, certain he was still mishearing. “Can you repeat that one more time?”

“You’re right,” Jackson shouted. “Jesus Christ, do I need to sign a confessional?”

Stiles couldn’t think of any witty comebacks for a guy who admitted he was scum. “No, we’re cool. Just making sure my ears are still working.”

It was stupid to keep calling Jackson a hundred percent evil. How could he be if his alter-ego, the personification of his worst traits, was only as dangerous as its handler. Matt, and subsequently Gerard, corrupted the kanima’s sense of justice for their own selfish needs. But the kanima still managed to reject Matt’s twisted logic when faced with an unborn child of unquestionable guiltlessness. It’d also, in a backwards way, protected Stiles and Derek from itself when it herded them into the pool, the one place Matt’s fear of drowning wouldn’t allow it to go. 

The hate in Stiles’s gut fizzled out. Up until that moment, he never realized how much precious energy he’d put into despising Jackson, but the enormity of it had to rival his five— _ten_ —year plan to win Lydia. He didn’t know where tonight left them, but he wasn’t too worried about keeping a close eye on the restrained former-kanima ex-hitman anymore.

He opted to ‘sleep’ in his Jeep, too cold for the weather and too fleshy to be out there with nothing but a sleeping bag between him and the preserve. He had clippers and a metal bat beside him in case some bloodthirsty thing happened to be roaming, but he filed it under ‘fire on the stove can burn you’ and ‘cars on the road can hit you;’ he wasn’t going to stop cooking or crossing the street. Whatever lurked in the shadows would never be darker than the demon who’d crawled through his insides.

He closed his eyes, praying for some rest. But the nightmares came anyway, jolting him in his seat. The noise woke Jackson up, if ‘sleep’ was what Jackson was doing as he drooped sideways against the chains before jerking upright. Jackson glanced his way before shaking his head and exhaling in exasperation. 

There was no point attempting to go back to sleep. It wasn’t happening anytime soon. Stiles didn’t know how much longer he could go before he started up drugs just to take the edge off. His skin felt loose, his joint creaky, his insides all off-sync. The void had dug its tendrils into him so deep that even after they separated bodies its presence continued to vibrate inside him until the very end. What was left was a Swiss cheese mosaic of his former self. And the remnants weren’t healing like they were supposed to. Either the rotting would eventually stop, or it’d consume him entirely. He doubted he’ll ever be whole again. 

He may as well embrace the distraction of Jackson’s agitated company. Jackson winced from the sudden light as Stiles turned the camp light back on and plopped down in front of Jackson.

“I’ve decided something,” he said outright. “If this were a few months ago, I’d be so on top of paying you back for all the shit you put us through—I wouldn’t think twice—but priorities change after a demon uses you as a chew toy. I just know everyone will be telling me to stay away from you and to not trust you, and, man, I can do like half of that on my own. So why not keep it simple?” He met the skeptical bleary-eyed expression on Jackson. “I’m not telling anyone about our conversation tonight. I was entrusted to make sure you don’t wolf out. The rest should stay between us.”

Jackson ground his teeth. “What are you fishing for?”

“You can save me the fruitless online search that I’ll inevitably attempt after this, because I doubt the Singhs post their agendas on Facebook.”

“You want information.” Jackson exhaled, relief washing over his expression.

“Yeah, I mean, now that your big secret is out, it wouldn’t hurt to fill in the details. You’ve already set the bar for rock bottom, so I can’t possibly judge you any harder.”

“Except I happen to be an overachiever.”

But Jackson told him everything. It was a completely different world out there. Werewolves and hunters weren’t two separate entities since sharing the small space of London meant self-enforcement. But with loyalties constantly shifting, Jackson’s obligations took him into the grimy underbelly of society where gunshot wounds were easier to explain than animal attacks. It didn’t matter that he believed people shouldn’t die unless they absolutely deserved it. One day he’d be saving real victims and the next they’d become his new targets. 

The more Jackson spoke of what he’d went through, the more Stiles couldn’t imagine the balls it had to take for Jackson to go against these people. Stiles wasn’t used to Jackson being anything but Mr. Popularity, but Jackson was candid about how the pack absolutely despised him, calling him _omega_ both in terms of having no pack and being of lowest rank in a pack, whichever they thought was worse on any given day. That or _Witless_.

“Oh my god,” Stiles burst out laughing. “I love it. Witless, why did I never think of it? Jackson Witless.”

“Their name calling was the _least_ of my concerns.”

Stiles pressed his lips tight. Right. It wasn’t funny if Jackson’s survival depended on taking their abuse. But Jackson lit up whenever he mentioned the gunner designated as his mentor, a nineteen-year-old Dominic Harper.

“Everyone called him my nanny, though.”

“Man,” Stiles said. “They really know how to rub it in.”

Dominic was a bitten wolf who accidentally killed someone on his first full moon, giving him the ‘ice eyes’ that excluded him from general pack business. Most gunners thrived in their line of work, abusing their power whenever they could, but not Dominic. He hated being marked for life, but he could kill without living for the kill. 

“Why doesn’t Dominic just leave?”

“What part of being doomed with ice eyes was I not clear on?” Jackson sighed. “Besides, Dominic isn’t an outcast. He’s _pack_ , so he’s not _just_ a gunner. He has friends and family. He has a _life_. Why give that up for ‘greener pasture’?”

“You got me there,” Stiles declared. “I’m so canceling my European vacation.” 

“Says the guy who lives in a literal _bloody hell_.”

Stiles snorted. “We definitely have the demons to show for it.”

He couldn’t believe he found that amusing. It was as though the hollowness in his chest suddenly stopped threatening to crash down like a house of cards. For the first time in weeks, the nogitsune felt like a thing of the past. He could choose to be better than his worst self… he could choose to be better than _Jackson_.


	4. Chapter 4

Exhaustion didn’t begin to cover how Jackson felt by the time he faceplanted onto his bed. 

He’d _tried_ to stay awake the entire time he was at the mercy of chains; that didn’t mean his body cooperated. Once his wolf was done, the rest of him went with it. But he couldn’t even pass out in peace, not with senses that’d been conditioned to ‘keep one eye open’ for months. And Stiles hadn’t made it any easier with his interrogation, unleashing a decade’s worth of venom.

He dreamt of Derek and their training and the alpha pack’s symbol scratched into the Hale house door. Derek was always looking over his shoulder, whether anticipating an attack or for Erica and Boyd to return. And although Isaac became Derek’s second, he was rarely around, always sent out looking for the other two betas while Derek set to work on Jackson. 

It wasn’t like he could be left in the same room as Isaac without some sort of brawl.

He dreamt of how it used to be with Isaac, before he found out he was adopted and something broke inside him. Before everything suddenly felt fake, like a stage set had been built around him, enough for him to shun anyone who ever loved him. Before he decided the world owed him for cheating and betraying him.

It was already late into the afternoon when he woke to his phone buzzing. He rolled onto his back before grabbing it and snarling into the receiver.

“I fucking hate you.”

“So Stiles found you after all,” Danny said with what had to be a smile.

“You sold me out.”

“Listen, you told me yourself you didn’t have an anchor. I don’t know what you were planning to do at the Hale house other than run into Derek. At least with Stiles around, Derek would be too distracted wanting to pummel him to want to pummel you.”

He couldn’t deny Danny’s logic. “You could have fucking warned me.”

“Oh, yeah, because you wouldn’t go out of your way to avoid him anyway.”

“For good reason! What the hell did he even offer you?”

“He tried everything from a no-questions-asked favor to a full day of doing my bidding. I think he got desperate when he blurted out ‘a day’s worth of no-questions-asked favors.’ You have to admit that’s too good to pass up.”

Jackson rubbed his face. “You realize it’s useless if he refuses to cooperate.”

He heard Danny snickering. “Well, he never specified it had to be twenty-four consecutive hours. I could have a lot of fun with that. But enough about Stiles—unless you _want_ to go on about him—” 

Jackson growled loud enough for Danny to hear, and Danny laughed some more.

“I figured as much,” Danny said. “Want to come out to the Jungle with me tonight?”

Jackson thought about saying no after the night he had, but his wolf still needed a proper outing, even if it wasn’t strictly a full moon. 

And he knew exactly why Danny was asking in the first place. Danny needed someone to get his mind off of Ethan, and Jackson needed something fun to get his mind off of everything else. Danny had always been about the win-win.

“What time?”

The Jungle, being the only gay club in Beacon County, was always full of people looking for a good time, even after that one time a ‘mass drugging incident’ temporarily paralyzed half the club. 

It’d been a Friday night when it happened, with the DJ blasted his beats and the jammed dance floor cloaked in artificial fog. If a lizard creature happened to appear out of the darkness of strobing lights and darting lasers, the crowd assumed it was part of a show. 

Danny had tried cheering Jackson up about the attack soon after Jackson left for London. He’d been convinced that some part of Jackson held back, which was how Danny got left with only minor scratches. Jackson shrugged it off as Danny being thankful the attack conveniently ruined his ex’s great night.

Right now, though, it was quiet. As quiet as it could get with ‘80s dance music playing and people talking over it. The place stank of booze, and a dim shade of orange blanketed the thin crowd sticking to the bar and the lounge area. The DJ was in the middle of setting up, and in an hour or so there’d be a line out the door waiting to get inside for the real party.

Danny was a regular who knew the bartender by name, eighteen years old and passing as a very youthful twenty-one-year-old for anyone who asked. Jackson pulled of the same vibe with his fake ID, and since normal alcohol didn’t work on him anymore, he got the strongest drink they had just for the hell of it. 

They stood by the bar trying to figure out their next move when Danny inclined his head in the direction of a table. 

“The one in green?”

Jackson followed Danny’s line of sight. “You’d do better if you stayed away from anymore white boy jocks.”

“You mean you?”

“Ha ha. Don’t come running to me when he starts reminding you of Ethan.”

Danny’s smile faltered. Even though he’d initiated his break up with Ethan, making excuses that it was about werewolves and not Ethan, it’d been better than having Ethan rip a bigger hole inside him before leaving Beacon Hills. Because, ironically, Ethan being Aiden’s twin and a lying alpha werewolf didn’t detract from him being the least horrible boyfriend Danny had ever had. Jackson would know after the way Danny sobbed over the phone and felt like the worst for crying over a break-up while his friends were in _mourning_. Jackson kept reminding him he wasn’t stupid, that the pain was real.

Then again, Jackson had become numb to the concept of mourning.

Jackson pat Danny’s shoulder. “Dude, you’ll find a good one eventually. Tonight is about you getting laid.”

“And what about you?”

Jackson sipped his drink. “What _about_ me?”

“I’m sorry things couldn’t work out between you and Dominic.”

Jackson rolled his eyes. “Dominic was always going to be a dead end.” He wasn’t even sure he wanted it to work out. Dominic made him feel _safe_ , and it’d been a rare luxury that he latched onto like a sap; at least the age of consent was sixteen in the UK. “I’m over it.”

“Are you, man? Because you’ve never been good at getting over stuff. Not unless you found something new to obsess over. Which begs the question.”

“There’s nobody.”

“You know, you’ve never been very good at lying.”

“What is there to lie about? I’ve got no one.”

Danny smirked. “I mean, I can see the appeal of McCall being _alpha_ in more ways than one.”

Jackson punched Danny’s arm. The passing interest he used to have in the cute shy guy with a watchdog had been utterly wrecked the moment Scott McCall got superpowers and Allison Argent entered the picture. 

But he had a one-up on Danny, who’d crushed on Matt.

“You wouldn’t like it if I started going on about Matt,” he said out of spite. “So shut the fuck up.”

Danny scoffed at the reminder of his own unfortunate crush. He rubbed the spot Jackson hit like it was nothing, and it was, considering Jackson could have sent him flying. “My hunch was right, then.”

“What hunch?”

“Stiles got under your skin.”

Stiles… the Sheriff’s son, who nicknamed himself ‘Stiles’ in first grade…

Jackson downed the rest of his drink, barely feeling the burn. His wolf had been nagging him about Stiles since it got a good whiff of him, attracted to him on some visceral level that his human didn’t want to even begin understanding. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

Danny eyed him knowingly, the asshole. “I remember something about you taking on the challenge of falling even lower. I’d think you two are on the same level by now.”

Jackson felt his eye twitch. “Why am I even friends with you?”

“I’ve never steered you wrong before,” Danny said with a confident quirk of his brow. “So what’s the verdict on green shirt over there?”

Jackson was going to have fun tonight one way or another. “This walking lie detector is in the mood to see someone squirm.”

 

#

 

Stiles understood he and Jackson would never be friends. He spent the rest of his Sunday playing _Left 4 Dead 2_ until Malia showed up for their _Star Wars_ marathon. Unlike Scott, she’d seen the original movies as a kid, so it was the perfect plan for their _date night_. He continued to be amazed he even had a girlfriend. 

It’d been two weeks since they started seeing each other, three since they’d got it on at Eichen House. 

He absently scratched the left side of his neck as he remembered his three days in Eichen. He got an electric-burn scar there after Deaton shot him up with wolf lichen. One that faded as the nogitsune recovered from the poison.

He shuddered.

They were safe now, and maybe if he said it enough times he’d start to believe it.

When Malia arrived, Stiles kissed her like they hadn’t seen each other in months.

“Okay, what did I miss?” she asked. 

He put his arm around her shoulder, herding her onto the living room couch. “Can’t I show my girlfriend how much I adore her?”

She raised a brow. “You can, but if I didn’t know any better, I’d assume you smell like you’ve been running from cougars.”

It was a fair assessment. “Jackson and I may have had a bit of a scuffle. But don’t worry. I got the good stuff from the hardware store.” He waved his hand. “But enough about me. How did _your_ first full moon treat you?”

She fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable with the topic. “How do you think?”

It’d been a full moon when she lost control that fateful day, when the beast attacked her loved ones, causing the crash and trapping her in her animal form. 

“You’ll get the hang of it eventually,” Stiles assured her.

She nodded, though she didn’t seem too convinced. “Scott says so too. But how many times will he need to roar at me before I get it?”

Scott’s alpha roar had been a handy tool when he got her to transform back into her human form, but it was probably embarrassing now, having it used to keep her coyote in line.

“Scott’s not the type to judge.”

“Sure,” Malia said warily, making herself comfortable on the couch. Stiles’s gaze caught on her bare thighs. He tried not to groan too loudly at the memory of walking in on her showering in the boy’s room of Eichen, when she claimed the water was warmer than in the girl’s room before admitting to always being cold without her fur. Yet somehow she still chose to wear short shorts in the middle of winter, along with thigh-high socks and knee-high combat boots.

She took off her fashionable jacket and floral cardigan, leaving her in a loose frilly shirt that all seemed oddly out of place for someone with a worse flannel habit than Stiles. She looked down when she noticed Stiles’s staring. 

“It’s Lydia’s,” she said. “She’s been unloading her old clothes on me. Which hasn’t stopped her from dragging me out shopping too.”

Last Stiles checked, Lydia was too upset over losing Allison to even acknowledge Malia. “Since when do you two go shopping?”

“Since yesterday morning.”

He couldn’t overlook how it coincided with Jackson’s return. “She took you out on the same day as the full moon?”

“We went early. She thought it’d help take my mind off of bloodlust or something. But all it really did was remind me that I went through puberty as a coyote.” Malia lifted her shirt, and, yup, that was a new bra. Black and lacy and doing everything for her breasts—nothing like the standard issue bra she’d worn at Eichen. “She helped me find the right size.”

“…Well, you look amazing.”

Malia rolled her eyes. “Lydia had a feeling you’d like it. You should have seen the thing she got for herself. It was _see-through_.”

Stiles grabbed a pillow to hide his boner. It did him no good when Malia sniffed the air and gave him a look. He scrambled for something to say. “Lydia has great taste… great taste on you.”

“Well, yeah, apparently I’m her new project. We ended the afternoon eating Cinnabon in the car, and she broke down crying. I guess she and Allison were really close.”

Stiles tensed. “Best friends, actually.”

“Sorry.”

“What do you have to be sorry for? _You_ weren’t the one who killed her.”

Malia frowned. “Neither were you.”

Stiles refused to let his mind go there. “You know what else is great taste? Star Wars. Let’s focus all our attention on the wars in the stars.”

He thanked the stars that Malia didn’t push the topic. 

They spent the evening watching the original trilogy, eating take-out, and making out in his room. He actively avoided groping her, feeling too self-conscious about how she’d take it and what it’d mean. It was almost as though they _hadn’t_ lost their virginities in a mental asylum, going slow like they should have from the start.

The next day Stiles intended to corner Jackson in the library with the help of Malia, who had a way with separating scents that went above and beyond the other weres. She already had Jackson’s odor memorized, a combination of sweat and body wash that Malia now knew was from Bath & Body Works. She also knew from Lydia that Jackson used to wear Dolce & Gabbana cologne, before the Bite made his nose too sensitive to it, which made Jackson was exactly the pompous metrosexual type Stiles always assumed he was. 

He barely knew anything about Jackson besides the obvious. It was his fault for being petty, a tiny rebellion against everyone else paying attention to the golden child. Stiles wanted _someone_ to ignore Jackson’s existence so why shouldn’t it be him? 

In hindsight, he should have followed the path of “know thy enemy.”

And while he had eight years to learn everything he could about Lydia—like the fact that she was a year behind in order to support the illusion of her being dumb and pretty, or how she naturally excelled in Chemistry to the point that she could improvise a fireless Molotov cocktail on the fly, or even that she could read Archaic Latin in her spare time because she got bored with Classical—he had only days to make up for his lack of insight about Jackson.

The easy part had been breaking into the admin office to check out Jackson’s grades, which were at least an A- across the board. And unlike Lydia, who excelled on her own, it dawned on Stiles that Jackson always had teachers and tutors on hand, working round the clock to keep his grades up.

Jackson also had perfect grades in French, ideal for wooing Allison and, later, realizing her family were the werewolf hunters in town. Scott had been trying to keep quiet about it, but it’d taken Jackson only seconds to connect that ‘Argent’ meant silver in French and silver killed werewolves.

Stiles needed more, though, and that meant sniffing out where in the library Jackson was hiding. 

Malia almost immediately honed in on Jackson’s vanilla and lavender trail, and they got to Jackson’s table in time to find Danny helping Jackson with test prep. While Danny greeted them cheerfully, Jackson only glowered before returning to his papers. 

Which was fine by Stiles.

He texted Scott about the lunch study group before setting to work tutoring his girlfriend—being a regular teen having regular teen problems, like he was supposed to. His ADHD just made it more likely he’d end up writing an essay on the history of male circumcision for Economics; thankfully, Coach let him redo the assignment—probably curious to see what Stiles submitted next—and Stiles earned a genuine A on his make-up. Malia had eight years of school to catch up on, and, fortunately, her school records had her down as a former home-schooled student, so she got sympathy from teachers. She just couldn’t skate by forever.

Malia chewed on the back of her pencil as she mulled over her work sheet. “Ugh,” she whined. “I’m never going to get this. How am I supposed to solve anything if there are no numbers?”

“The letters stand in for numbers,” Stiles explained.

She wrinkled her nose. “This is stupid. When am I ever going to use this? Why aren’t there classes for more useful things like hunting? I’d ace that in a heartbeat.”

“Yes, well, most of the human population would tend to agree.” He pointed his pencil to her paper. “Try dividing this by that.”

Malia did so, and her answer matched the answer sheet. She rubbed her forehead and sighed in frustration. “I hate this. I’ll need a miracle for them not to throw me back into the fifth grade.”

Stiles cheered her on. “Come on, I believe in you.”

Malia didn’t cheer up.

“Let me try,” Danny said, moving over to sit by Malia’s side. 

Danny was halfway into a story of how to apply the math to real life when Scott and Kira showed up. Jackson let out an audible groan as food and paper got strewn across the table. The only person missing at the party was Lydia, and she had a ‘group project’ to attend to. 

With Danny helping Malia and Scott working with Kira on an English assignment, Stiles was left watching Jackson busying himself with ignoring everyone’s existence.

“Must be a shame,” Stiles said at Jackson. “I bet you were looking forward to a sports scholarship, and now you actually have to put in an effort for college placement.”

Jackson clenched his jaw. “Just because I’m not a rocket scientist like Lydia doesn’t mean I can’t pass the fucking bar exam.”

“You want to be a lawyer?” Stiles asked incredulously. He supposed if the kanima hadn’t been run by psychos, Jackson would have made for an interesting vigilante hero catching criminals who got away with murder.

“ _Want_?” Jackson sneered. “My parents are falling over themselves to get me to follow in their footsteps.”

“You don’t sound very enthusiastic about it.”

“What’s there to be enthusiastic about? This is my life now.”

“I would _kill_ for your life,” Stiles blurted before swiftly covering his mouth. “Not literally. I wouldn’t kill you literally.”

Jackson rolled his eyes. “I know what you mean, dumbass. You’re too innocent to be anything other than a nuisance.”

Stiles hated that word. “Stop calling me that. The nogitsune _chose_ me,” he stressed. “It didn’t want just anyone’s darkness, it wanted _mine_.”

He’d accepted the darkness that would taint his heart forever. They all had—Scott, Allison, and him—when they entered the ice tub to sacrifice themselves for the darach’s ritual in place of their parents. But the nogitsune had been waiting around for _something_ in those decades ever since Kira’s mom summoned it.

It’d been waiting for him.

“Stiles,” Scott said gently. “You’re not defined by the darkness inside you.”

“Why does it matter? I’m not innocent anymore. That’s all that counts.”

“But you’re not hurting people anymore,” Kira said. “That also counts.”

“Not _drastically_ hurting,” Jackson corrected.

Stiles grunted. “You’d know better than anyone here what it’s like to open yourself up to someone else in your head.”

The muscles in Jackson’s jaw tightened. “They weren’t _in_ my head. Not the way the fox was in yours…”

“Matt talked through you.”

“No. I _became_ him. Or a mirror of him. Something that kept him whispering in the back of my head as though it were my own thoughts. The kanima is driven to please its master, so I _wanted_ to fulfill his…” Jackson visibly shuddered and scrubbed one hand over the other like maybe he expected scales to form there again. “It was a fucking compulsion.”

“Did you…” Malia asked, “did you know what was happening as it happened?”

Stiles grimaced as he caught the flash of guilt in Malia’s expression. She had had no idea what was happening as the full moon coupled with the car crash unleashed her inner coyote. But that didn’t stop her from needing to take responsibility for the massacre. 

“No,” Jackson stressed. “I knew something was _wrong with me_ , but I didn’t understand shit until after the fact. I wasn’t fucking lying to you in the prison van. I had no idea what I’d become until my two selves collapsed at the warehouse.”

That was news to Stiles. “Shit. I thought you got filled in by Lydia… I thought you had the slate wiped clean.”

“And you’d be wrong.”

“Does that mean…” Scott said. “Do you remember killing those people?”

“Yeah, and I remember feeling _justified_ in doing a lot more than that too.”

Stiles jiggled his leg as he clamped his mouth shut. He swore Jackson was tearing up, and he wasn’t going to call him out on it. Scott had found Jackson in the locker room, naked and pinning Allison to the ground, and even though it’d been Matt pulling the strings, Jackson was the one who had to fight off Scott’s fury. And at the time, Stiles only felt awful for Allison.

“You know you’re forgiven for that… time… with Allison, right?” Scott asked, his voice going raw at saying her name.

“Well, I don’t want your fucking forgiveness. None of Matt’s sick shit would have happened if I never got the bite in the first place.”

Stiles pressed his lips to a thin line. “Allison would be here to judge you herself if I never got possessed in the first place.”

Danny sighed. “You know, Lydia told me how it went down the night Allison died. The nogitsune had taken on your likeness by that point. It was out of your body, doing its own thing.”

“I was out of _its_ body,” Stiles snapped. “It was _me_ that got evicted out of the carbon copy of me. Not the other way around. And it had enough dirt on my feelings toward Allison—and Aiden—that it made sure the oni struck them down.”

“Oh, please,” Jackson scoffed. “If Allison and Aiden were competent enough to each strike a deadly blow to the oni, the fox would have found an excuse to eliminate them even if you weren’t involved. You were old news by then.”

“I just… I don’t know, man…” Stiles vibrated with nerves. “My head, it’s got an open invitation out for the next demon to take me. At least you’re safe not being a kanima anymore. I may as well just be a vessel at this point.”

“The only vessel you are is for getting on my nerves. You’re a wreck. What demon is gonna want those sloppy seconds?”

Something unwound in Stiles’s chest. He’d have to heal before another demon had anything to take from him again. And if that was even possible… if he healed right… maybe he’d keep his door locks all together.

His lip quirked at the thought. “Asshole.”


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles sat in the back row of the bleachers, sipping on a CapriSun as he watched Jackson from afar. The pool area made itself welcoming when it was brightly lit and full of chatter, squeaky feet, and splashing water; nothing like the day he held up Derek for two hours while a kanima lurked in the darkness. And the rest of the bleachers had students milling around, either talking with each other or watching the swimmers. People also idled in the pool itself, chatting it up while others took to the lanes for a swim. 

He’d acquainted himself with everything about swimming before coming here, including videos of Jackson at competitions. Jackson outshone not only his teammates but also the other actually-competent teams. Even now, he was undulating in and out of the water using _the_ most difficult stroke like it was nothing. 

“Sometimes the shape you take reflects the person that you are”—that’s what they said about the bite. Why couldn’t Jackson have become a giant otter instead of a lizard-turned-wolf? Those ‘river wolves’ would be a far nicer ode to South America than the kanima ever was.

Jackson made himself out to be some perfect, infallible leader, the kind of guy that everyone called an alpha male. But if Stiles thought back, Jackson’s pompous and hot-tempered attitude actually _mellowed_ over the years. 

It’d started with Danny transferring in, a fresh face who had no trouble fitting in except when it came to a bunch of assholes deciding to take advantage.

Jackson, of all people, stepped up to defend Danny, and Stiles could respect that since he’d done similar for Scott. Jackson came out on top in a brawl with the leader of the bullies—a boy at least twice his size—and no one bothered Danny after. But then began rumors of Jackson and Danny being _together_ ; as far as Stiles could tell, it was just malicious gossip. Jackson’s response was to sneer at the guys who started it and broadcast how they were just jealous _they_ could never be with _him_. That stopped them cold.

Stiles couldn’t remember how fast everyone forgot the incident, but Jackson’s reputation never suffered from it. On the contrary, his narcissism got him more points with swooning girls. Then he became a Lydia-stealer, and that was the end of that. 

But aside from being a terror for anyone who stood in his way, Jackson—and ultimately the kanima—was the furthest thing from a leader. Jackson’s bullheadedness got him the title of captain of both swim and lacrosse, but his entire reputation hinged on people taking his jock persona at face value.

 

#

 

Jackson stood at the edge of the pool, his skin buzzing with nerves. No matter how many times he tried to swim it off, he was unable to shake Matt’s phobia and its absolute terror at the possibility of sinking and swallowing water. But each and every time, once he willed himself into the shallow end, the anxiety gradually waned as his real memories resurfaced along with years of muscle memory. And after a few laps, he’d be one with the water again… until the next time.

The BHHS swim team sucked, but it still hurt having to quit. He had been captain of incompetent swimmers for the sake of a sport he’d always loved far more than lacrosse. Coach Finstock kicked up a storm when he refused to play lacrosse ever again, unable to comprehend how one of his best players would ever give it up. But Jackson hadn’t completely lied when he blamed everything on severe trauma. Matt temporarily died underwater, but Jackson temporarily died on the field. 

Jackson refused to let Matt keep a hold on him forever.

He dipped in and out of the water with precision butterfly strokes, traversing the entire length of pool before turning around and repeating. It was more intensive than a casual swim, but it was exactly what he needed to relax.

He and Allison had swum here practically a year ago, back when things were simpler. Relatively. But they could have been friends. Actual friends, if not something more. She seemed to have a way of bringing out the better parts of him. And they’d both been kept out of the loop about the existence of werewolves, and it gave them someone to gripe to about the mysterious shit happening around them. Allison was always unfazed by Jackson’s bitterness—a lot like Danny in that regard—never begrudging his company. He could be himself around her. Even while feverish with Derek’s wolfsbane poisoning, confessing he liked her… and Scott. He’d flat out admitted to wishing they could both like him back.

But then he remembered how Matt felt, the obsessive need to make Allison his and his alone. How Matt secretly took photos of her from outside her house and put them up on his own bedroom wall, convincing himself they were meant to be, if only she saw the light. Matt was repulsed that she’d ever choose Scott over himself, and he let her know… by making Jackson corner her and say all the despicable things Matt ever thought about her life choices… nude and ready to physically overpower her. 

If Allison hadn't been trained to defend herself... if her attack hadn't knocked him back to himself...

Bile rose up Jackson’s throat as the buzzing returned under his skin.

Matt wouldn’t have attracted the kanima if he didn’t feel vengeance in his heart, and he wouldn’t have drowned if he hadn’t become best friends with Isaac after the fall out with Jackson.

It was at Isaac’s that the 2006 swim team had been drunkenly celebrating a state championship with Coach Lahey. Isaac’s older brother carelessly pushed Matt into the water, and everyone just ignored Matt’s struggling, assuming he could swim.

Coach Lahey blamed Matt for the incident before threatening him into never telling anyone.

And Matt used Jackson for payback… and more.

 

#

 

Stiles was caught off guard when Jackson abruptly stopped mid-lane and turned around to walk his way back to the shallow end. When Jackson exited the pool, he smoothed back his damp hair, and Stiles was damned if he dwelled on the water dripping down Jackson’s chest. Jackson may have been almost as skinny as Stiles—and a whole inch shorter—but with those muscles, Jackson had the sleek bod worthy of a modeling career at Abercrombie & Fitch. Plus those high cheek bones, piercing eyes, and dimpled chin. There was no shame in admitting Jackson had the sort of attractiveness heterosexual guys could appreciate.

“Hey,” Lydia said, and Stiles nearly fell out of his seat, CapriSun spurting on his face as he squeezed the bag too tight.

“Warn a guy next time,” he complained as he wiped the juice off with his sleeve.

Lydia raised a brow before taking the empty seat beside him. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you’ve been going out of your way to intercept Jackson since the day he arrived.” She pushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear, assessing Stiles with a glint in her doe eyes. “You know, if a guy showed this much interest in _my_ every move, I’d think he’s into me.”

Stiles tried to act cool, but half his face twitched. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Lydia was beautiful and fiercely smart, intimidating to the point that he could only worship her from afar for years. And he didn’t deserve her company after the way the nogitsune used her, its insatiable need for chaos and misery counting on Lydia’s abilities as a banshee to help set the trap that’d eventually killed Allison and Aiden. Lydia never talked about the incident, but Stiles had no doubt she blamed herself for alerting the fox when they’d arrived at Eichen, despite trying her hardest not to, even though it was all his fault in the end.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Stiles asked, changing tracks.

“I wanted to see him.”

Of course she did. Lydia was eternally magnetized to the idiot. And she wouldn’t have given Stiles the time of day if Allison hadn’t suggested it as an alternative to her going to the Winter Formal with yet another dumb jock. But even there, she broke off from everyone else in order to search for Jackson, leading her to the lacrosse field where Peter found her. Stiles had run to help, but she was a bloody mess by the time he got to her, before Peter essentially kidnapped him for an in with Scott.

Lydia gazed out onto the pool. “Kira told me about your conversation at the library. I was thinking I’d see for myself if Jackson’s become as… _encouraging_ as Kira claims.”

Stiles didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at Kira’s unshakable optimism. Neither she nor Malia ever met Jackson when he was _Jackson_.

“What did you ever see in him?” Stiles asked because he finally could. “I mean, unless it’s purely for the looks. I’d totally get that.”

“He has his moments,” she conceded, “when he’s eager to please and he’d do _anything_ for the approval.”

Stiles felt heat rise up his neck. Jackson did need constant validation of his supremacy, and it’d clearly manifested as the kanima seeking out a master. “Makes one wonder why he’s so goddamn stubborn.”

“Jackson’s not exactly into being the vulnerable type.”

“Right.” That sort of vulnerability came with the threat of rejection, and Jackson preferred being the one doing the rejecting. “Sounds like Jackson’s only good in theory,” he said. “Because in practice, he’s the literal worst.”

“He used to be more manageable.”

At that moment, Jackson exited the locker room looking as prim as James Dean with his styled hair and leather jacket.

“You should go before he catches you spying,” Lydia said.

 

#

 

Jackson narrowed his eyes when he caught Stiles slinking out of the bleachers before bumping into someone. Stiles glanced back before making wild arm motions and rushing out. 

He didn’t have to think more about it when he noticed Lydia approaching. She had on a bored-annoyed expression as though she’d been waiting for him and he was late. Her hair was in a loose braid as she wore a fashionable sweater over her dress. Gone were the days of heavy make-up, perfect curls, and fake obliviousness. Lydia had gone through the grinder after Peter bit her and gave her a nervous breakdown; now death followed her everywhere. He shook the dread off and tried to walk past her.

“Jackson,” she said sharply, appalled that he’d blatantly ignore her. “We need to talk.”

It stopped him in his tracks, and he glared at her. “Oh, so _now_ you want to talk. What happened to being unable to tolerate my very _presence_?”

“I’ve changed my mind.” 

He felt the rage boiling in him as he took several deep breaths through his teeth. Everyone in school knew by now how he’d verbally assaulted her in the halls. He’d screamed at her for taking yet another thing away from him when the bite didn’t take. And they _wanted_ him falling on his knees and begging for her forgiveness.

“What if I don’t care?”

“You care,” Lydia pressed on. “So why don’t we cut the crap. What are you doing for Christmas? Mom and I are spending this year at my grandma’s lake house, and you’re obviously invited.”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“I’d like to think no one deserves to be alone this time of year. Not even the likes of you.”

After half a year away from home all Jackson wanted to do was to stay in, and he had Danny’s help in lying to his parents about spending Christmas with Danny’s family. But Danny wouldn’t have blown his cover to Lydia, which meant she figured that out on her own. 

He was starting to see where he’d overlooked the intelligence in her scheming ways.

“I don’t want anything to do with you. You fucking lied to me. I don’t even _know_ you.”

Lydia sighed in exasperation. “Jackson, can we just _talk_? Somewhere more _private_?”

She had a way of drawing his attention since the fifth grade, twirling her hair or adjusting her skirt whenever he snuck a glance, baiting him into making the first move. He was fighting a losing battle—Lydia always got what Lydia wanted. It didn’t matter that her social standing wasn’t what it used to be or that she’d become a weirdo who hung out with other weirdos; he wasn’t any better these days.

They ended up moving to the parking lot, standing outside of Lydia’s car because Jackson refused to get inside. The cold didn’t bother him the way it used to, but then Lydia shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. Jackson instinctively removed his jacket and hung it across her shoulders, only realizing what he’d done when she curled into it and glanced up at him bashfully. That was the problem with dating Lydia for over five years; he didn’t know how else to act.

The fresh air had cleared out the chlorine smell in his nose, making him acutely aware of the fruity perfume to her scent and how it barely concealed the thick and vinegary smog surrounding her. Harbinger of death. His wolf was tired of death. 

“You lied to me,” he reiterated more calmly. 

“Please, Jackson. I saved you from your own ego. I don’t think you could’ve handled the direct competition.”

He clenched his jaw. “That doesn’t make it _better_.”

“No one, not even you, ever expected me to be anything more than a vapid popular girl. So, yeah, I played it up. I became what everyone wanted me to be…” She pressed her lips together, and her scent soured. “That’s how I intended it to stay, but—”

“Was _anything_ we did real, Lydia?” Images flashed in his mind of all those nights they’d spent together and all those Christmas vacations up in Aspen, left alone with nobody to disturb them except for room service. Sitting by the fireplace, drinking hot chocolate, and watching the snow fall. Having their first time and several more… The way Lydia grieved over his body. “Or was I only ever someone you could use before you got tired and moved on?”

“You know that’s not how I feel.”

“How _do you_ feel, then? You keep telling me you love me, but how can you possibly love me when the moment Scott became better, you tried to take him for yourself. If I’d realized you _made out_ with him sooner…” He let out a bitter laugh. He should have known the second he noticed her smeared lip gloss—as though she’d _ever_ accidentally overlook such details. “God, it’s like you _wanted_ me on a possessive rampage.”

Lydia’s voice hardened. “If I remember correctly, you had no qualms about dropping me like dead weight as soon as you learned about the bite. I seem to recall something about me being ‘the deadest.’”

“Because nothing I did was good enough anymore!” he barked with the force of twelve months suppressing it. He didn’t even care that a person or two glanced their way before moving on. “How did you expect me not to get fed up? Stupid me for assuming I could become anything more than a constant disappointment with _anybody else_.”

Lydia’s eyes widened and mouth slightly parted. “I was different back then… Everything was different.”

“Why do I have a hard time believing it?” Jackson mocked.

“I keep hearing whispers from beyond and stumbling onto dead bodies! I can’t just keep pretending I don’t know anything anymore when Aiden…” she choked out his name. “God, I miss him… I really do… But he wasn’t just a bad boy, Jackson, he was a bad _guy_. And he never took responsibility for it. I don’t think he even understood he was bad for me. Unlike you.”

His resolve began slipping. 

Kanima fugue or not, he’d known Lydia shouldn’t have him around. “You were everything to me, Lydia. I’d have _never_ have gone after Allison if she weren’t McCall’s greatest weakness. And I needed a weakness if I was ever going to prove to you… I don’t even know… that I was worth even a moment of your goddamn time?”

“I really do love you, Jackson.” Her eyes watered. “I never lied about that. I’m done waiting until the last second to say how I feel. I kept wondering if Aiden would ever change… but he didn’t get it until the very end, in the arms of Ethan. And I don’t want that ever again. I need to do everything in my power to prevent it.”

Her heart remained steady, and his wolf whined. He couldn’t let Stiles be right about him. “What do you want from me, Lydia?”

“You need to tell me how you really feel. Right now.” She closed the space between them. “Tell me that you feel nothing and I’m just wasting my breath. Tell me there’s nothing left between us. Because I can’t keep doing this, Jackson. I can’t keep pining after you like there’s any hope of us fixing what we once had. We need to settle this _now_ , one way or another, so I can move on in life. _I love you_ , but do you still even—”

“I do,” he said, cupping her face. Her love hadn’t saved him, but it damn well meant something. She’d been his _anchor_. And even after he pushed her away twice, she was still here and still wanting him. “I’ve always loved you, Lydia.”

He kissed her, and if he ignored the whining of his wolf, it was like his life was back to normal.


	6. Chapter 6

It’d been days, and Stiles couldn’t stop gritting his teeth whenever he caught sight of Jackson with his arm over Lydia and with her pressed to his side, as they walked the halls like they owned the place again. They passed by Stiles as he got books out from his locker, and he swore Jackson glanced his way.

“It’s amazing, you know,” Scott said as he stood beside Stiles, “how we still go to school and pretend… I don’t know, pretend everything is normal? Regressing to the mean? I forgot the last time Lydia was this… _at ease_ with anyone. It’s just nice seeing her smile for real, you know? They seem… happy.”

Stiles shuddered at the irony. “Happy,” he muttered. He remembered how hard he’d cried on Scott’s shoulder when Jackson and Lydia became official in fifth grade and how he drew devil horns and curly mustaches over every picture of Jackson he could find. After Scott became popular and Lydia finally noticed him, Stiles used the chance to ask Scott to _help_ him get with Lydia. Neither of them expected Lydia and her bizarre power move by kissing Scott. But it was Scott kissing back that got Stiles into a jealous rage, making him passive aggressive for some time after. 

Now? He’d rather see Scott happy instead of him wearing his black button-down and dark jeans, backpack slung over his shoulder as his eyes glazed over while scanning the halls. Scott could have Lydia. Anyone could have Lydia. Anyone but Jackson.

“You seriously believe they can make it work this time around?”

Scott shrugged. “I believe Lydia knows what she’s doing. And Jackson… well, he seems to be trying. We should let them figure it out on their own.”

Scott’s heart was too big for this world. And, really, Scott needed to stop taking the higher ground; it made Stiles feel petty by comparison. 

“Yeah, I think I’ll pass on trusting Jackson.”

He couldn’t leave this alone when it didn’t sit right in his gut, and he had ideas… ideas that involved Danny as an ally. 

“I need a favor,” he said after lacrosse practice. Danny didn’t like him, but Stiles wasn’t getting the cold shoulder anymore—so progress. 

Danny raised a brow. “Don’t you have a day’s worth of no-questions-asked favors you still owe _me_?”

“You were _serious_ about that?”

“Yeah, I was.”

Danny rolled his eyes before taking his shirt off, and Stiles was left gaping at the unfairness of Danny growing from a kid scrawnier than Stiles into a smiley six-foot brick wall. Stiles’s immense curiosity about whether he was attractive to Danny backfired when Danny jokingly offered his services after Stiles got desperate about not dying in a virgin sacrifice. And Danny must have still been peeved about the time Stiles blackmailed him into helping him hack some emails. _Derek_ was attractive to gay guys, especially shirtless, and he was hiding out in Stiles’s room at the time. Stiles wasn’t one to back down from an opportunity where it presented itself, even if he didn’t appreciate Derek later slamming his head against the steering wheel for petty revenge.

“Don’t you care that Jackson’s dating Lydia again?” he asked. “It’s not right.”

Danny rubbed his face as he leaned against the locker, still shirtless. “Dude, tell me something I don’t know.”

Stiles blinked in disbelief. He never took Danny as disapproving Jackson’s relationship, but this was good news. “So you’ll help me?”

“ _No_. I’m the last person to tell a Jackson to stop making stupid decisions motivated solely by his dick.”

Danny had fallen hard for Ethan, and Ethan was only there because he’d been ordered to get close to Danny. The same as Aiden with Lydia. All so the alphas could corner Scott, and by extension, Derek.

“So you’re really going to sit back and do nothing again?” Stiles accused. “Some friend you are.”

“This isn’t mind control or mistletoe. This isn’t even remotely supernatural. The only reason you want me involved is because I’ve been friends with him since we were little.”

Stiles grunted; so guilt wasn’t going to work either. He didn’t even understand the first thing about Danny’s friendship with Jackson except that Danny wasn’t competition for girls. The two of them had barely anything in common besides a love for sports and working out. In the dictionary, Jackson’s face was next to a jockstrap while Danny’s was next to ‘hack your data and sell it to the Russians.’ Stiles suspected the only reason that cybercrime charges were dropped against Danny when he was thirteen was because of Jackson’s parents.

Which gave him an idea.

“You’re obviously close enough to Jackson that even though he’s been a piece of shit, you still see a reason to call him your friend. And if you were anyone else, I’d say you’re an idiot, but you’re like the smartest guy I know.” He didn’t even need to lie in the flattery. “I bet you already have a plan in motion to help Jackson out.”

Danny scoffed, but it sounded in good humor. “Okay, I’ll bite.” He smirked as he eyed Stiles up and down. “You want to get close to Jackson?”

“Yes.”

“Try video games.”

Stiles tried not to sound too skeptical. “I’m guessing not _World of Warcraft_.”

“He’s a pro at _Call of Duty_ …” Danny paused as a chill swept up Stiles’s spine. “Well, he used to be, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah.” Why was he surprised that Jackson told Danny? “Takes a lot of shooting to win that game.”

“He’s really good at _Left 4 Dead 2_ these days.”

Stiles exhaled with a chuckle. “Mutant zombie slaughter—much less of an ethical dilemma,” he said from experience. “But it needs at least four players to be really fun. Jackson’s probably annoyed by bots and randos by now.”

“Probably,” Danny said with an emphasis that implied ‘definitely.’

Stiles wasn’t letting the opportunity slip right by. “I could host a game night at my place tomorrow,” he threw in as an option. His dad was working all day, and with Scott’s grades improving to pre-werewolf status, Scott didn’t need to worry as hard about studying after work. Plus it wouldn’t take much to nudge Malia to go hang out with Kira at the new bubble tea place with both of them excited to try it for the first time. “You, me, Jackson. And Scott could be our fourth.”

“You really think I have the power to convince Jackson to go _willingly_?”

“Tell him the 2012 apocalypse is coming one way or another, so he may as well make the best of it.”

 

#

 

Jackson thought it was just another one of Danny’s elaborate jokes. But Danny wasn’t kidding, and Stiles didn’t just want a game night, he wanted it at his place. And the worst part was Jackson was into the idea. Being with Lydia meant he needed senseless entertainment to unwind with, and yelling at Stiles remotely just wasn’t going to cut it. Regardless, Danny was right about it being in his best interest to make nice with the dumbasses who were probably his best bet of surviving until graduation, even if he didn’t like it. 

Stiles lived in the middle of town, in a well-kept but small house. The entryway was lined with family photos, both on the walls and stacked on a table, as well as plenty of ugly pastoral paintings and mounted fish. They turned onto a hallway that ended with a kitchen squashed between stairs to the left and a living room to the right. 

Pizza waited for them in boxes stacked on top of the stove as Stiles took Danny’s bag of soda and chips in one hand and Jackson’s bag of boxed desserts in the other. McCall was already sitting at the round dining table that took up much of the living room.

Jackson didn’t hide his dissatisfaction when he said, “Let’s just get this over with.”

He wound up with Danny to his right, Stiles to his left, and McCall sitting across from him as they ate. And conversation inevitably steered toward lacrosse. It was always supposed to be a bullshit sport meant to pad Jackson’s college applications, and ‘captain’ was of higher esteem than ‘co-captain.’ He got where he was by taking it too seriously, and it no longer hurt hearing how McCall was doing well as captain. Even Stiles had advanced to being a hit-or-miss in his usefulness on any given day. Coach was immensely proud of the improvement, and he continued to hassle them about when Jackson would return to the field. But Coach was in a league of his own with his ‘ _no_ no homo, everything is yes homo’ rule making and getting over his trauma of nearly dying from an arrow to the chest. The man just assumed Jackson could do the same. But nearly dying wasn’t the same as actually dying and coming back.

Coach also missed Isaac, who’d fled to France with Allison’s dad, and McCall wondered whether Jackson ever met up with him.

“No,” Jackson said bitterly. “Why would he and I even be on speaking terms?”

Maybe he could have tried harder to mend their friendship before Isaac’s dad went full psycho, but trying to talk with Isaac about it just made them fight worse. 

“I haven’t spoken to him either,” McCall said, his voice taking on a raw tone. “Allison’s last words were that she loved me, but she was dating Isaac at the time. He never got a chance to say goodbye… It’s my fault he saw no reason to stay. Derek put him in my care and I shouldn’t have…” he trailed off. “I fucked up—”

“No, you didn’t,” Stiles said. “One jealous fit doesn’t undo everything else. The nemeton threw off your control. You kept Isaac safe where it mattered, which is a lot more than Jackson can say.”

Jackson clenched his jaw. “Yeah,” he grit out derisively, “because the foster system is _such_ a safe haven. No abuse there _at all_.”

Isaac had been well aware he’d be taken away if word got out. His dad became meaner in fourth grade after his mom died, but it was in sixth grade—when his older brother died too—that Mr. Lahey turned downright abusive. And Isaac made sure Jackson knew just how much he’d never forgive him if he got his parents involved. So fuck everyone. It wasn’t Jackson’s problem that no one else spotted the freaks right in front of them. It’d been the only kanima murder he didn’t regret a single bit.

“So, safe houses,” Danny said, very obviously trying to change tracks.

 _Left 4 Dead 2_ campaign mode meant the four of them had to cooperate in taking out the Infected standing between them and the safe house. Jackson trusted Danny to know what he was doing, and McCall quickly proved to have _some_ aptitude in keeping them alive. Then any doubts about Stiles’s hand-eye coordination were squashed by Stiles’s ability to mash the right buttons at the right time. They found a groove as Danny and McCall argued strategies while Stiles itched to just blaze into battle and deal with the Infected as they came. Jackson didn’t care one way or the other. This was about survival, and the only thing that mattered was getting results—he was damned good at results.

The game threw everything at them, and eventually they reached a map they couldn’t beat no matter how they finessed or brute-forced it. Their so-called teamwork fell apart as the collective yelling and name calling grew louder by the second. Jackson was just about ready to call it quits when his wolf perked up at something in the air. 

McCall’s eyes were glowing red, and his claws were beginning to dig into the wooden table. It was like he was ready to jump into the virtual world and tear into the creatures himself.

Jackson knew his own eyes were glowing—his wolf reacting an alpha asserting their power—as he kicked Scott’s shin. McCall jerked in his seat, wolf receding as he met Jackson’s heated gaze, which flicked down to McCall’s hand. The horror in McCall’s expression was followed by him excusing himself and darting up the stairs.

Jackson followed him up, reflexes reacting faster than Stiles’s. He reached the upstairs door just as McCall shut it in his face, but he could still hear Scott’s hammering heart and ragged breathing. And his wolf picked up on the strong scent of Stiles across the door—Stiles’s room—before the reek of anxiety took over, acrid like battery acid, cutting through every other odor in the air. 

“Sorry,” McCall said, sniffling. “I need a moment.”

Jackson easily heard Scott’s voice as though there was no barrier between them; considering the thinness of the walls and McCall being pressed to the door, he didn’t need to even try. He folded his arms as he leaned against the wall, ears picking up on Stiles’s not-so-stealthy presence at the bend in the stairs and Danny stationed at the base of the steps. 

“The fuck is your problem, McCall?” he barked.

“I’m sorry,” Scott said, his voice drifting downwards until a soft bump on the floor gave away his seated position. There was a hiccup and the scrape of fabric against skin. “I keep failing everyone. I’m sorry.”

Scott’s pulse stayed steady, like he really believed it even though he’d saved Stiles from the nogitsune—and Jackson from Derek.

Jackson didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t treated Scott as a person in ages. McCall had become just a means of getting the bite, enough for Jackson to give up the idea of marrying Lydia in order to try to destroy Scott’s chances with Allison if he didn’t get it. 

Except everything got destroyed in the end.

“What kind of alpha are you if you can’t get your shit together?”

“I know… I know. I’m supposed to act like nothing hurts…” Another hiccup. “I’m sorry I’m not good enough.”

Jackson chest tightened. “That’s not what I meant, you dumbass. We both know you’re good enough because you’re a fucking _true_ alpha. And according to the Singh’s emissary, there only _one_ in every century. Because it’s not just willpower that gets you the prize; it’s also strength of character. You need the sort of stubborn virtue of a golden eye who’d never choose to kill even if it’d make his life easier, all because he believes everyone should have a chance at redemption.”

“I don’t deserve it.” Scott’s voice hitched. “I—I’m the reason the people I love keep _dying_.”

Jackson groaned at how _not true_ that was. “If the way you handled Gerard says anything about you, then you’re exactly the right guy for the job.”

“That was a _backup_ plan,” McCall whined. “I never wanted it to come down to the mountain ash pills.”

“You did what had to be done to stop that fucker.”

Jackson flinched at the slam of a fist against wooden floor. “Derek was the alpha back then. We weren’t friends—we weren’t even _allies_ —but he and Chris… _they_ were supposed to handle it. Not me. Not with Gerard making it sound like I was choosing between Allison and everyone else I loved… it wasn’t supposed to come down to me forcing Derek to bite Gerard… even if he understands why I had to.”

“But I’m glad it did.” Jackson wasn’t about to blatantly lie. He’d been there with his kanima claws against Allison’s throat as Derek helplessly begged McCall not to go through with it, and he’d be damned if he had any remorse after the way Derek had once made _him_ beg. His wolf felt more obligation to the guy who helped save him twice. “That’s just how it is, Scott. The world is cruel, and if you want to get ahead, you have to become cruel too.”

“I _know_ , but I have to _try_ to be better than that. _Someone_ has to try. No one’s ever bothered to save me from anything. No one’s ever _cared_ about me except… except when they need me as a pawn.” The soft whimpering and hint of salt in the air gave away Scott’s quiet tears. “And they want me to become just like them… But I can’t… I won’t… I don’t know how much more I can take before I break…” 

Scott had warned him that the bite would ruin his life, but Jackson just assumed Scott was too lowly to appreciate the gift. 

“Yeah, well, tough shit. You barely know what you’re doing, but somehow you always come out on top. And if that means putting the fate of this town—possibly this world—in the hands of a ‘true’ alpha who’s a total newb, well, what else do we have?”

“What if I fail? What if the darkness in my heart… What if I finally become the monster Peter’s always wanted me to be?”

Jackson’s gaze wandered to the floor. McCall wasn’t the naive kid from over a year ago, dopey and harmless until he got provoked. Scott was alpha, but even in his alpha glare, there was something softer about him. He was a long way from the selfish asshole who physically threatened Jackson into taking Allison to the formal, as if it was Jackson’s problem he didn’t trust Allison to look out for herself. Alpha McCall didn’t owe him shit, but Scott would actually _care_ about the possibility of Jackson getting hurt, even if they weren’t friends.

“I won’t stand here and pretend I know the answers, Scott,” he said, keeping his tone impassive. “But if there’s anything I took to heart in London, it was that fear is the path to the dark side— _Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering._ ”

“That’s—”

A bang on the staircase alerted them to Stiles tripping over his own two feet before shouting, “I’m okay.”

“…That’s awfully deep coming from you,” McCall continued as he stood up. “Did Anita teach you that?”

“What? No, it’s fucking Yoda. Haven’t you ever watched _Star Wars_?”

Scott snorted with resigned humor. “God, you and Stiles. I should really get around to that, shouldn’t I?” He opened the door, wetness around the eyes and his lip slightly curling. “You think… you think I’ll ever get better at any of this?”

“I don’t think you have a choice.”

Stiles made some commotion downstairs about the last slice of pepperoni pizza, and McCall stepped into the hallway, wiping at his face with his black sweater. “We should probably head back.”

“Yeah,” Jackson said. “The apocalypse won’t wait for anyone.”

“God, I really hope 2012 doesn’t actually go that way.”

“I was referring to Stiles.”

 

#

 

Stiles heard everything, and Jackson actually _helping_ Scott was as surreal as it got. He managed to convince Danny and Jackson into giving him their phone numbers before they left for the night, and he couldn’t help but text Jackson soon after.

>> STILES: Hey so thanks for coming over

>> STILES: I mean it

>> STILES: Also thanks for not being the worst with Scott

>> STILES: I never knew you watched Star Wars

He was about to put his phone away when it buzzed back.

>> JACKSON: You don’t know shit about me

>> STILES: Wanna share?

>> JACKSON: You’re so buddy-buddy with Danny, maybe he can share

>> STILES: Oh come on, I’d rather hear it from you directly. It’s not like Danny is your Master

>> JACKSON: Go fuck yourself

Stiles overstayed his welcome anyway. It’d been enough that Jackson agreed to come over. They weren’t friends. He didn’t have to care about hurting Jackson’s feelings. 

>> STILES: Maybe I will

He tried to sleep, but he should have guessed his dreams wouldn’t give him any peace. He was returned to the day the fox wore his face as it laughed at Scott for trusting it, driving a blade through Scott’s gut and eating up the miles of misery stored in Scott’s heart, especially from what Scott’d been absorbing from others. All because Stiles led Scott out into the woods that fateful day and told Scott he had a responsibility to be the hero now.

The nogitsune had given Stiles an opportunity to make amends. If Stiles killed himself, it would all end. Just drive the katana through his own gut in an act of seppuku, disembowel himself to maintain his honor. And Scott had to be his kaishakunin, beheading him in the final blow. Otherwise, anyone the oni touched would die the way Allison had.

Stiles had seen through its lies.

But not here.

The illusions here were real. There was no fighting back. No divine move. No Scott realizing he had the power to bite the doppelgänger, breaking apart its form so they could defeat it. 

Stiles plunged the sword into himself... and woke up crying and shaking. 

He rolled over to find his phone glued to his side, and the last screen open was the chat with Jackson. He didn’t question his impulse as he typed away. 

>> STILES: I guess you’re sleeping like normal people

>> STILES: I wish I could sleep like you

>> STILES: I ruined everyone’s life

>> STILES: I keep thinking about what’d it’d be like if I just killed myself

His thumbs kept moving as he started pacing his room for lack of anything to do with the rest of himself. 

>> STILES: Did Danny ever tell you about before the nogitsune, when we had an incident at a Suicide Motel? 

>> STILES: All the werewolves tried to kill themselves because Coach’s whistle got laced with wolfsbane 

>> STILES: And you know how he loves to blast that thing in our faces. Hallucinogens right up our nostrils

>> STILES: It just happened to be a far lower dose than the punch at Lydia’s birthday so humans were unaffected…

He stopped as a strong chill crept up his body. Curling up under his covers didn’t help much, but the childish part of him felt safer. 

>> STILES: Not as though I could ever forget the vision of my dad blaming me for my mom’s death

>> STILES: She had every right to attack me on the rooftop that one night

>> STILES: Her disease started when I was born

>> STILES: She was delirious but she was right to accuse me about trying to kill her…

>> STILES: But at the motel, the darach wanted the werewolves out of the way

>> STILES: So she could finish the rest of her sacrifices

>> STILES: She tried to kill my dad, Melissa, and Chris in the guardian sacrifice

>> STILES: Technically Scott and I sacrificially died in their place and came back

>> STILES: Allison too but you know

He paused in his typing.

>> STILES: I killed Allison by being weak

He put his phone away as he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. He didn’t have any plans lined up for the day; it’d just be him and Dad in the house, and he couldn’t face his dad. His usual form of stress-relief was in the form of the tissue box and bottle of lube by his bed. And he hadn’t been able to use them in ages. 

>> STILES: I can’t even go fuck myself

>> STILES: Stiles Jr doesn’t trust my own hand, so how is it ever going to trust anybody else?

>> STILES: Every time I get hard I remember Eichen

>> STILES: …Well, okay, that part is my fault. I was feeling spiteful. 

>> STILES: You’d have sex too if the thing using your body was temporarily out of service. 

>> STILES: Best sex ever

>> STILES: Until the nogitsune broke my dick. 

>> STILES: HOW EVIL IS THAT

>> STILES: I may as well just die

He blinked, and in the moment his phone buzzed back. 

>> JACKSON: Seriously Stiles? Just gonna unload on me like that?

>> STILES: SHIT WHY ARE YOU AWAKE?

>> STILES: OMFG

>> STILES: FORGET I SAID ANY OF THAT

>> STILES: Please don’t tell Scott

>> JACKSON: I’m more inclined to call 911

>> STILES: OMG IM NOT GONNA ACTUALLY KILL MYSELF

>> JACKSON: Could have fooled me

>> STILES: Well, if you were here using your wolfie sense, you’d know for sure

He imagined all the ways Jackson probably wanted to tell him to fuck off. Except he doubted Jackson actually would considering the sticky situation Stiles put him in. Jackson’s sense of self-preservation was too strong.

>> JACKSON: Ever seen Mega Shark vs Giant Octopus?

Stiles stared at his screen for a solid minute. 

>> STILES: No

>> JACKSON: Wanna get drunk with me and make fun of it?

The last time Stiles got shitfaced was with Scott, and it’d been _the_ last time, what with Scott no longer able to get drunk with him. Stiles couldn’t bring himself to do it alone. 

>> STILES: Werewolves can’t get drunk

>> JACKSON: Only the ones without connections

Stiles didn’t even care that this was Jackson’s idea of getting out of trouble. Watching a dumbass movie while getting drunk was exactly what he could use right about now.

>> STILES: Just say when

They texted back and forth the rest of the morning while he hurried to get laundry done. He didn’t know what to wear, but he also didn’t want to seem like he was trying. Except all his regular clothes were overdue for a wash, and laundry happened to be his chore around the house.

He was about to hunker down with a last-minute assignment in between loads when a new message appeared.

>> LYDIA: Jackson cancelled our date tonight. Mind explaining why?

Stiles kicked the dryer and yelped as he jumped up and down. 

“You all right, son?” Dad called from the living room.

“Yeah, super fine!”

>> STILES: How much did he say?

>> LYDIA: He said I should ask you for the good reason why you’re taking up his entire weekend :)

>> STILES: Let me guess, your date was originally supposed to be yesterday night

>> LYDIA: Yeah, so would you care to fill me in?

His plan to break apart Jackson and Lydia was working a little too well.

>> STILES: Well, I’m not trying to steal him from you, if that’s what you’re thinking

>> STILES: Because I’m very happy with Malia

He glanced at his physics textbook.

>> STILES: There’s just this BIG physics project 

>> STILES: Jackson and I were assigned to do it together

>> STILES: Due tomorrow

>> STILES: HUGE part of class grade

>> STILES: Totally slipped my mind 

>> STILES: Didn’t mean to leave it until last moment

>> STILES: But, well, here we are

Lydia was annoyed, but what could she say? Stiles really had forgotten he had that project. And Jackson clearly expected him to cover for both their asses. Lydia could only warn him not to make a habit out of it.

He parked in the Whittemore’s driveway in the late afternoon. Jackson lived in the nicest part of Beacon Hills, surrounded by elegantly traditional homes with their steep roofs and red bricks; a _For Sale_ sign hung on the former Lahey house across the street. But the Whittemore’s modern douchestrosity—a white box with giant windows—sat on the corner of the street with a long marble staircase rising up the hill like it was better than everyone else.

Inside, Stiles toed off his shoes by the shoe rack, his white socks fitting in with everything else being so white and _sterile_ , from the walls to the rug to the sofa. He was sure the building was smaller than his, but it felt massive with the fancy living room separated from the fancy dining room with only the edges of the rug separating the space. The kitchen was at the back of the house, set apart by a long countertop and with its own door to the backyard. It was like stepping into a design catalogue, and even the few photos that hung on the walls were all professionally shot and edited. 

Jackson’s parents were away on a business trip, leaving just the two of them. And Jackson had Stiles sit on a stool by the counter as he put popcorn in the microwave. He also got out a brand-name beer bottle for Stiles, pouring into a glass before placing it on a coaster in front of Stiles.

“Thanks,” Stiles said as he accepted his drink. “I feel like I should tip you or something.”

Jackson scoffed as he pouring himself from an unmarked growler.

“Is that from your connections?” Stiles probed. He really hoped this wasn’t a limited supply because Scott could use a drink or three.

“British werewolves still love to drink like British people,” Jackson explained. “And they’ve got an entire underground industry dedicated to manufacturing wolfsbane-infused hops. About as dangerous as regular booze to humans.”

“Man, that sounds cool. Did you have to smuggle that across customs?”

Jackson smiled wistfully. “Anita handled everything. Didn’t think I should leave without a care package.”

“She doesn’t hate you after… you know?”

“She’s the reason I got off the Isles in one piece.” Jackson took a long gulp, which prompted Stiles to do the same. “That woman adores me in a way I’ll never understand. I think she sees her younger self in me.”

Stiles nodded as he reminded himself Anita wasn’t the problem. She got shafted by the same society of wolf packs that acted more like a business than a family. It was a wonder that she had any compassion left in her at all.

“You’re the last person on earth I’d expect to have a death wish,” Jackson said, shifting the subject back to exactly what Stiles wanted to avoid.

“I don’t want…” Stiles hesitated. He shuddered at the possibility of Jackson revealing he was lying to himself, the same way Peter once had. “I’m not going to kill myself.”

He fidgeted under Jackson’s scrutiny. This was why he was here—for the wolfie verification—but it still wracked his nerves. Jackson eventually huffed like he accepted Stiles’s statement, and Stiles let out an audible sigh.

“I swear, Stiles, if I wasn’t conditioned to constantly be on call, I’d have silenced you the second you buzzed.”

So that’s what it was. “Then I should get a special ringtone.”

Jackson smirked as he rolled his eyes. “Should be easy to find something as annoying as you.”

The microwave dinged, and Stiles beelined it to the living room, with its flatscreen hanging on the wall and surround-sound speakers attached to the corners of the ceiling. The sofa was massive enough to swallow him whole as he sat back and found the cushions reached all the way to his calves. There weren’t enough pillows to make up the difference, and he ended up planting his feet on the cushions and watching the screen between bent knees. By the time Jackson got the DVD running and set the popcorn bowl between them, he was too committed to the position to reconsider propping his feet up on the glass coffee table the same as Jackson.

 _Mega Shark vs Giant Octopus_ was as ridiculous as Stiles thought it’d be—low budget with flat acting and crappy CGI; Jackson was heckling from the start of the opening scene. It was no wonder why Jackson asked Stiles to join in. Danny’s standards would be too high for this, and Lydia wouldn’t touch such garbage with a thousand foot pole. But Stiles was not above judging every little dumb thing and jeering at the parts that were so bad they became good. 

They were on their third beers when Stiles toppled the empty bowl of popcorn, laughing so hard his eyes teared up and his abs hurt. Jackson belly-laughed right beside him, only noticing the disaster enough to call Stiles stupid and throwing a stray kernel at his head. Stiles retaliated with an attempt at a headlock, but the werewolf had the upper hand, flipping Stiles onto the floor. Stiles only laughed more at the dent he made in Jackson’s perfect hair. 

They took a food break before the next awful film in line, _Birdemic: Shock and Terror_. Stiles snorted at the premise as he stretched his limbs and checked the time. He hadn’t had this much fun since… too long. And it was Jackson, of all people, making it worthwhile. 

“You’re kind of awesome when you’re not a bein’ an utter douchebag.”

Jackson eyed Stiles before heading to the kitchen. “It’s like a compliment coming from a hornet’s nest.”

“No way. I’m more of a honey bee.”

“How is that any better?”

“It’s way better! Honey bees can only afford to sting once in their lifetime, so they _have to be_ mindful of what’s actually a threat. And they also make honey. You’re exactly the type to endure a couple of stings for that sweet, sweet honey.”

“Are you _flirting_ with me?”

Stiles snorted at Jackson and his ego. “You wish, dumbass.”

Jackson’s gaze flicked up and down Stiles before he shook his head in exasperation. “C’mon, moron. Lemme show you the rest of Anita’s care package.”

Stiles followed him into the kitchen, drooling a bit when Jackson revealed the bounty of jams, sauces, and dessert cups. 

“Please tell me we’re doing brunch,” he said.

“We’re doing brunch.” Jackson opened a cabinet to a huge selection of loose leaf tea Anita _added_ to the Whittemore’s already absurd collection. “‘nd guest gets the honor of picking.”

“Yeah, just give me a few weeks.”

While Stiles tried to wrap his head around three brands of Earl Grey, Jackson unboxed a brand new ceramic teapot to go with the water boiling in an electric kettle. Stiles eventually gave up and just went for the fanciest thing in front of his face—holiday spice blend.

A different pot of water soft boiled their eggs, which Jackson paired with a fresh box of sweet and savory scones to test out the various spreads. Stiles didn’t have a taste for marmite spread like Jackson did, but he loved dipping into runny egg yolk as the egg sat securely in its special holder, like a little nest.

He sipped the spicy black tea as he mused on their predicament. “You haven’t strangled me yet. I mus’ be doing something right.”

“Yeah, it’s called not kidnappin’ me.” Jackson bit into a scone. “I dunno how you ever thought I’d believe a bizarro story about me transforming into a lizard. You coulda been making shit up just to mess with me.”

Stiles clutched his chest dramatically. “I’m offended you assume I need to resort to breaking the law to jus’ mess with you. In fact, I feel terrible for what happened that day—I was put in charge of pantsing your naked ass. I’ve seen enough of your dick to last me three lifetimes.”

“And what’s your opinion?” A grin spread over Jackson’s flushed face. “Of my dick? I’d love to hear this.”

“Ugh,” Stiles slurred while palming his face. He hated how he managed to memorize the shape of every dick he’d ever seen in the name of _comparison_. Jackson was possibly the only guy he knew without foreskin outside of porn, and catching that piece of information had set off an entire night of studying the history of circumcision. And just because the flaccid thing wasn’t big didn’t mean Jackson wasn’t a grower; it was only right that the arrogant dick would have an arrogant dick. 

“Someone’s getting turned on,” Jackson mocked.

“Screw you, buddy. A gentle breeze could get me up if it hit me just right. You ain’t special. I haven’t _stopped_ being horny. It just doesn’t like _staying_ hard.”

“Sure,” Jackson said, unconvinced. “You should start lifting weights.”

Stiles tilted his head and blinked sluggishly. “Huh?”

“Get into bench pressing and watch how fast you trust your hands again.”

“Ugh. That means finding someone to spot me.”

“What? McCall too good for the gym?”

“ _McCall_ ,” Stiles sputtered, imitating Jackson’s intonation, “has more important things to do than waste his time on puny humans in not-immediate danger.”

“You’re _pack_. Humans are importan’ to packs. They get stronger too.”

“Yeah, well, stronger is relative. Last thing I need is him laughing at how little I can lift. I’m nothin’ more than Robin _on a good day_.”

“Hey, don’t shit on Robin like that,” Jackson snapped back. “Dick Grayson’s a sex icon; he’s Nightwing. Tim Drake’s the head of the Teen Titans. Jason Todd was highly respected in his time. Robin is his own class of hero.”

Stiles gaped at Jackson with newfound attraction. He _finally_ understood what Danny saw in the guy. “God,” he said. “I thought Lydia was superficial for hiding she’s a nerd, but you hiding you’re a geek takes the cake.” It gave him a sour taste in his mouth. “I take back all my hating of you two together. You’re _perfect_ for one another, you lyings _liars_.”

Jackson narrowed his eyes. “You know what, I regret saying ‘nything. Hate yourself for being Robin, see if I care.”

“No,” Stiles quickly backtracked. “No, I like you caring. It actually _means_ something coming from you. Scott’s too nice a person. He cares about everyone always. He cares about me ‘cause he doesn’t know how else to be, doesn’t matter if I deserve it.” Stiles groaned. “And he’d totally help with the weight lifting if I asked. Wouldn’t even make fun of me ‘cause he’s just that damn nice.”

“If Scott’s so damn great, why aren’t you crying on _his_ shoulder at four in the morning, hm?”

“Scott’s my best friend. I love him. So what if he used to follow my lead on everything. Just went with whatever thing I was up to ‘cause he was _my_ sidekick… The bite… it changed him…” Scott had become everyone’s hero, and where did that leave Stiles? “I’m fucking proud of Scott. He’s a hero even though he’d rather jus’ live a quiet life with a wife and kids and a white picket fence. He’s the good one. And I’m the bad one for thinking he’s anything but good. Okay? Peter kept trying to Jedi mind trick him to the Dark Side, and Scott refused him each and every time. He’s strong. Stronger than I’ll ever be. And he’s the greatest friend I could have ever stumbled upon. The greatest. My best friend. And he’s trying so damn hard.” 

Regrets churned in the pit of his stomach. He wished things went back to the old days, but there was nothing left there. He tried to down the rest of his drink, but all he had left was an empty glass. 

“He jus’ can’t be in multiple places at once. Okay? I keep expecting Scott to prioritize me the way he used to… but it wasn’t his fault… it wasn’t… I’m not his numero uno anymore, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. Alright? Between girlfriends and raising his grades and saving the day… becoming better than me and having more than me. So what if I hate him for it? Sometimes. _Just a little bit_ …” 

He was the shitty friend for wanting more from Scott when Scott was already giving it everything he had.

“Scott _is_ the best. He’s everything I could ever want, and I’m privileged to be his best friend when he could have had anyone else. _I’m_ the disappointment. And he’d actually put me on suicide watch if he knew. I ain’t adding to the pile of shit on his plate already.”

Jackson scowled. “But you’re fine with adding to mine.”

“Hey, _you_ invited me, all because of some stupid guilt-trip.” 

It wasn’t fair that Jackson was there for Scott when Stiles couldn’t be. It wasn’t right that Stiles found more solace with Jackson than he ever could with Scott. 

“Ya know, you’ll never be good like Scott,” he spat. “You should save everyone the trouble and quit trying.”

“So fucking leave!” Jackson shouted. “Why are you wasting my time when you’ve got _Scott McCall_ at your back? I’m not holding you prisoner. That’s a lot more than I can say about you.”

Stiles surged out of his seat. “Maybe I _will_ leave.”

“Good.” Jackson followed him up. “Consider this guilt-trip over.”

“Consider your number deleted.”

“Consider _your_ number blocked.”

“Good riddance.”

Stiles slammed the door on his way out. If he got pulled over for drunk driving, well, it’d be the least offensive thing on his record. He didn’t give a fuck. And if he died, he _hoped_ Jackson got blamed for everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Mega Shark vs Giant Octopus_ and _Birdemic: Shock and Terror_ are real movies. I assure you if _Sharknado_ (2013) had been around at that time, they’d be watching it too.


	7. Chapter 7

Jackson called Danny the second Stiles was gone. He needed something, anything, to distract him from the hole he was falling down. If Stiles died… he didn’t know what he’d do. But he wasn’t going to chase after the asshole, no matter how much his instincts yelled at him. He shouldn’t have listened to his stupid wolf, jumping at the chance to help Stiles. They were nothing to one another. 

“You’ve never cared this much before,” Danny said when he arrived, having listened through Jackson’s ranting the entire ride over.

Jackson tossed Danny his phone, no longer trusting himself with it. He could already feel his fingers itching to call Stiles and make sure he got home in one piece. “It’s this fuckin’ wolf. It’s caught Stiles’s scent and it doesn’t understand why I’m fighting it. How does it not get I’d rather shove my dick into an electric socket?”

“Dude, is the wolf trying to take over?” Danny asked, rightly concerned. 

“No.” Jackson rubbed his face. “It’s not like that.” He didn’t even have the words. The buzz from the beer wasn’t helping.

“So how is it then?”

“Dominic said the wolf and me are two sides to the same coin. The wolf… it’s not someone else. It’s me. It’s part of my brain becoming its own _thing_. And I’ve gotta ‘embrace the wolf’ and ‘become one with my other self.’”

“He sounds right.”

“Shut up. That’s not the point. The wolf’s taking everything out of proportion. It doesn’ get why Stiles and I can’t be together. There’s no _reasoning_ with it!”

“That also sounds right.” Danny smiled and pat Jackson’s shoulder. “Come on, man, I’ve got all three _Transformers_ films to tide you over for the next few hours.”

“Stiles could be dead in a car crash as we speak.”

“But he’s not.”

“How can you possibly know?”

“Dude.” Danny flashed the screen of his phone in his face.

>> STILES: I’m home

>> STILES: I still hate you

Jackson dropped onto the sofa, face falling into his hands. It was disgusting how much relief washed through him. “He didn’ delete my number.”

“Yeah, and you obviously didn’t block him. Which begs the question: why’s he messaging you in the first place.”

“He texted me his life story in the middle of the night assuming I’m asleep. He doesn’t care if I see it. He jus’ likes to hear himself talk.”

Danny snorted as he sat beside Jackson, bumping shoulders with him. “You should ease up, dude. You’re in Stiles’s inner circle now. He’d rather cut his own arm off than hurt a person he cares about—and before you say it, he _does_ care about you. In his own Stiles way. Why else would he even _pretend_ to let you know he’s in one piece?”

“Well, I wish he’d stop. It’s giving my wolf the wrong idea.”

“Too late for that, don’t you think?”

“Shut up.”

He focused on mindlessly watching _Transformers_. Except the moment Megan Fox appeared, when he realized Mikaela was more than a hot body, she had brains, and she never hid the fact, no matter how little appreciation she got for it. Unlike Lydia. 

He forced down his feelings about it.

A quarter through the second film, Danny began snickering and smelling like satisfaction. When Jackson looked over, he saw two phones in Danny’s hands. 

“What the fuck, Danny?”

Danny wasn’t phased in the least. “Stiles messaged you about how he got McCall to help him at the gym.”

“Of course he did.” Stiles would rub it in as well.

“And now Scott’s messaging me if we want to join them. Something about being afraid of Stiles accidentally hurting himself, and us having more gym expertise than both of them combined.”

“That’s the dumbest excuse I’ve ever heard.”

“But you’re considering it.”

Jackson growled at how easy Danny could read him. “Stiles _would_ hurt himself, that imbecile.”

“I’ll let them know to meet us before class.”

 

#

 

Stiles slept worse than usual, battling a hangover as he dragged himself into his gym clothes. Scott was right about this being a bad idea, but if weightlifting was a step toward getting his dick fixed, he was ready to start as soon as possible… even if Scott had to make it into a group thing. Stiles felt too much like shit to deny him. 

Scott clearly had ideas about drawing Jackson into the pack now that Stiles opened up the possibility with his own selfish meddling. 

Stiles was not above feeling smug about Jackson being hungover and dragged to the gym as well. He reluctantly reminded himself he was supposed to be pissed at Jackson. He just couldn’t remember why. But it was Jackson. He wouldn’t be suffering right now if Jackson hadn’t gotten involved with his _caring_.

Danny ended up taking charge of his workout after it was established he was the only one with any sense left for what was ‘normal’ weightlifting. Stiles’s strength wasn’t anything to brag about on a good day, and it was a struggle just to get through Danny’s version of a light routine. Meanwhile, Scott and Jackson wound up in a werewolf pissing contest about who could deadlift the most. Stiles swore it was a tick—Jackson couldn’t be in Scott’s presence without exerting his ego, logic be damned. But it turned out Scott didn’t know the extent of his own strength until Jackson goaded him, so maybe Jackson wasn’t a complete moron for testing Scott’s capacity. 

By the time lunch came around, Stiles’s mood improved from exerting himself and feeling his body obey his will. Kira was sharing a story when Jackson made an offhand remark and Stiles caught himself snorting at. Malia gave him a look as he responded to Jackson with a reference to _Mega Shark vs Giant Octopus_ , and Lydia was downright _scandalized_ the instant Jackson inadvertently laughed. 

Stiles tried not to think too hard about it the rest of the day. Lydia would sooner go after Jackson for ditching her than Stiles for lying on Jackson’s behalf. But then there she was, waiting by his locker after final period.

“I never got a chance to ask,” she said coyly. “How’d that physics project go?”

“Great,” Stiles stuttered as he opened his locker. “We had a great time doing physics because physics is great.”

“Yeah, see, funny thing about that. How’d you two end up assigned as teammates if you’re not even in the same class?”

He cursed under his breath. “It’s this new thing they’re trying out. Pairing up people from different classes. Very experimental.”

“Uh huh.” She innocently batted her lashes. “Do you _know_ what it takes for Jackson to cancel plans with me?”

“I’m guessing you’re gonna tell me.” He threw books into his bag as quickly as he could.

“Jackson hasn’t cancelled on me since Danny was rushed to the ER.” And that’d been four years ago.

“So what you’re really saying is Jackson doesn’t have a life outside of you.”

She rolled her eyes. “What exactly are your intentions with Jackson?”

“Intentions?” The bag slipped from his grip. He doubled-over, catching it by the strap just before it hit the floor. “There’s no intentions there. We’ve got nothing between us.”

Lydia sighed heavily. “There’s obviously _something_. And I _will_ get to the bottom of whatever’s going on between you two.”

“There’s nothing _there_ , except a guilt-trip,” he defended, realizing his error too late.

“A guilt-trip over what, Stiles?”

He chewed on his lower lip. What did he have to lose here? “He’s just… Fuck, Lydia, he knows what it’s like being a puppet, okay? So does Scott, but Peter failed with him. And when Peter controlled you, he didn’t try to make you kill people. You don’t have blood on your hands. And Jackson… it’s just easy to talk to him. Which, now that I think about it, sounds absurd. Jackson. Easy to talk to. Only in upside-down world. But I kind of… I may have said too much and put him in a compromising position…”

“Stiles,” Lydia pressed, and he couldn’t look away from her pleading expression. “What _exactly_ did you say?”

“Nothing,” he said a bit too loudly as he waved his hand. “It’s bad enough I’ve got _Jackson_ worrying about me. Everything’s under control.”

“I don’t know if this is my paranoia or a banshee thing, but it feels like death is hovering over you, and I can’t…” Lydia blanched. “I don’t know what I’ll do if you kill yourself.”

“I’m not—” he stopped short. People were beginning to stare. He lowered his voice to a near whisper. “God, why is everyone assuming I’m suicidal? There’s a difference between passive ideation and actually having a plan. Everyone has their regrettable four a.m. fantasies. Mine just happened to get typed and sent. And Jackson may have overdone it with trying to get off clean. That’s all there is.”

Lydia pursed her lips. “Well, at least that explains why he lobbed the explanation onto you.”

“I didn’t want this to become a big deal, okay?”

“Okay,” she said, concern in her voice as she backed off. “I wish you could trust me more, but I’m glad you’ve worked something out. Jackson, he… he’s done some bad things, but he’s not _bad_.”

Lydia’s words followed him the rest of the day. Stiles kept wishing he could text Jackson, but he doubted Jackson unblocked him. It bugged him the entire time he tried to concentrate on schoolwork and making new plans for the gym. 

Jackson was obnoxious and overbearing, but he understand when he was a threat. The guy warned Danny away the night of the championship match and kept Lydia at arm’s length when she insisted on inviting him to her birthday, all while barely comprehending the kanima inside himself. Jackson would never be on the same level as Scott, but Stiles only needed one Scott in his life.

>> JACKSON: What the fuck did you tell Lydia?

Stiles couldn’t help the smile spreading on his face.

>> STILES: I may have spilled the truth 

>> STILES: Why?

He tapped his footed as he waited through the long pause.

>> JACKSON: Nothing

>> JACKSON: Danny says you want to workout with him again

>> STILES: Correction, Scott insists I should stick with Danny, and I’d like to try when my brain isn’t leaking from my ears

>> STILES: I already feel the difference

He figured he’d throw Jackson a bone.

>> STILES: Thanks for helping

 

#

 

Jackson was so screwed. It was bad enough his wolf wanted Stiles, but now they shared inside jokes. He’d mentally prepared himself for Lydia’s backlash, except instead she was praising him for helping Stiles out and giving him birthday quality blow jobs as reward. Now he _had_ to be nice to Stiles—probably exactly what she wanted. Not that he could help himself after the content mood she put him in. 

He’d forgotten Stiles was supposed to assume he was blocked, and Stiles took advantage by spending the rest of the evening randomly messaging Jackson whatever inane thought popped into his head.

>> STILES: I swear it’s a conspiracy how all teachers give midterms and projects the week before Christmas vacation

>> STILES: It’s like they thrive on our misery

>> JACKSON: I prefer tests to killing people

>> STILES: Omfg don’t

>> STILES: Just let me have this delusion

>> STILES: Sometimes I’m afraid I’m going to forget how to read again

>> JACKSON: As though that’d stop you

Jackson always knew Stiles was persistent to a fault. Stiles being able to intuitively disable a bear trap for the sake of Lydia spoke volumes of his puzzle solving ability. And that intelligence… it didn’t sting the same Lydia and her air-headed disguise. 

>> STILES: It’s a miracle I’m not permanently hallucinating out of my ass after the nogi crawled into my brain and made my life a waking nightmare

Jackson had nothing he could say to make Stiles feel better about it.

>> JACKSON: When I was sick with wolfsbane, I had hallucinations of claws boring out of my body from inside my mouth. With the kanima shit, I ‘swallowed’ a foot-long snake and had it slither up my stomach, into my skull, and out my goddamn eye socket like an alien spawn

>> STILES: Dude, you have orifice issues

>> STILES: Also, shit, I never knew how badly you reacted to that shit

>> STILES: Do you ever get nightmares rehashing the worst parts of your life?

>> JACKSON: Derek’s scratch gave me a fever bad enough that I’d dreamt I was inside the Hale fire every single night during. I didn’t even live through that personally, but I can recount it what it feels like to burn alive with enough vivid detail to make you wonder

>> STILES: Fuck

>> STILES: I’m so tired of everything

>> JACKSON: Because you don’t sleep

>> STILES: Thanks Captain Obvious

Jackson wasn’t sure how long he dozed before another chirpy ring sounded from the nightstand. At the second set of beeps and whistles he sluggishly reached for his phone, hoping to respond before Stiles went off on another life story.

>> STILES: I’m so fucking done

>> STILES: Why can’t I have one night - JUST ONE - without ducked up nightmares

>> JACKSON: I don’t know

>> STILES: Ugh! Did I wake you up?

>> JACKSON: What do you think?

>> STILES: Okay, well, I dreamt of waking up on the floor of a mental asylum with my foot caught in a fucking bear trap and a demon corpse dragging me into the unknown

>> STILES: That hadn’t even been at Eichen. I’d sleepwalked into Malia’s former coyote den

>> STILES: Thank god I’m over the sleepwalking, right?

>> JACKSON: Yeah

>> STILES: No one deserves to be controlled by psychos

>> STILES: And while it was definitely nice slamming Derek onto that desk… that’s probably the /only/ upside to being controlled by pure evil

>> STILES: Sometimes I wonder what it’d have been like if someone decent like Scott became your master. Your eyes wouldn’t be blue with him. Then again, you ‘became’ Matt while you were under his influence. I dunno how I’d feel if you became Scott. I’ve comes to terms with the fact that your life lessons shouldn’t come at the cost of what makes you YOU

Jackson swallowed down the bile forming in his throat.

>> JACKSON: What makes me ME, Stiles?

>> STILES: The stuff at your core

>> STILES: Fuck if I know

>> JACKSON: I don’t know what my core is anymore. When I became Matt… his fear of drowning overrode everything inside me. It was his will. His fears. I /know/ it came Matt. But the fear came from within me as though it really was from me. It’s always me. So now I have to spend every day proving my past self wrong. 

There was a pause before Stiles typed again.

>> STILES: I’m afraid to even ask about Grandpa Hitler

>> JACKSON: Then don’t.

He could feel himself getting sick just remembering it. 

>> STILES: I won’t

>> STILES: It’s too depressing to think about

>> JACKSON: I didn’t tell you what I did for you to feel sorry for me

>> STILES: It’s not about feeling sorry for you

>> STILES: God, I’m the last person to feel sorry for you

>> STILES: I forgot the last time I’ve slept more than two hours in a row

>> JACKSON: They have pills for that

>> STILES: No way am I throwing my body into a deep sleep I have no control over

>> JACKSON: Well I don’t know what else would help

>> STILES: Can we still watch Birdemic together? 

>> JACKSON: Now?

>> STILES: I wish. 

>> STILES: No. Later today. Or whenever. 

>> JACKSON: You think I’ll invite you back just like that?

>> STILES: I promise to behave this time around

>> STILES: Please <3

Jackson was at a loss as his wolf wagged its tail like it’d just hit the jackpot.

>> JACKSON: And I’d want your company /why/?

>> STILES: Because I’m the BEST company

>> STILES: C’mon. It’ll be fun. We don’t even have to drink. Though I wish we could. Hangovers suck. 

Jackson thought about denying it, but what would that gain him? 

>> JACKSON: I should kill you

>> STILES: But you won’t

He wouldn’t. 

But he had ways of making Stiles squirm, and that was worth putting up with his company.

Like Stiles’s horrid surprise when he finally came over and discovered Jackson’s parents were not only home but also welcoming him to dinner. 

Stiles sputtered through the entire thing, occupying himself with stuffing his mouth and tripping over answers about his current life and future plans.

When it was over and his parents disappeared into their home office, which left Jackson alone with Stiles in the living room.

Stiles gave him the meanest stink eye. “You did that on purpose.”

Jackson smirked. “You’re lucky my dad didn’t grill you about restraining orders.”

“I bet you would have loved that.”

“There’s always next time.”

Stiles paled before reddening and dropping to the sofa. “I regret nothing.”

Jackson rolled his eyes and snorted as he set up _Birdemic: Shock and Terror_. The movie was trying to be horror, and if the special effects weren’t godawful, it’d have rattled Jackson. Not like acid-spitting, ground-exploding birds would stand out among everything else Beacon Hills had to offer. But for a brief span of time, the stupidity was a relief from reality, and Jackson joined Stiles in laughing hard enough to cry.

 

#

 

Stiles dodged Danny’s prodding about his constant texting with Jackson. He didn’t have answers, and if he was being honest, he was afraid to find out.

By their third try at the gym, Danny finally let him increase the weights to something that wasn’t embarrassingly easy. And Danny, asshole that he was, never once mocked him for being weak. It was hard to remember that Danny’s growth spurt happened _after_ having a metal bar in his chest for two years, put in when his sternum almost collapsed from an unforeseen birth defect. Whatever infinite patience Danny gained from that, Stiles was more than happy to reap from it.

And Malia reaped in turn.

Kissing Malia was the highlight of all the hard work, his muscles burning with concentrated effort— _his_ effort. His hands didn’t feel foreign when he touched her, and when she touched him back, he leaned into her embrace. 

The groping had him keyed up by the time she went home. Welcome to boner town, population Stiles. 

Ordinarily he’d be sitting at his desk with an archive of high resolution pornos to rile him up, but after weeks of his dick going limp regardless of what he watched, he wanted to go slow in reintroducing Stiles Jr to his hand. He locked the door to his room before lying on his bed with a tissue box to one side and lotion on the other. He closed his eyes and replayed his time with Malia, taking it further until they were naked and in his bed, nothing like that dusty couch in Eichen’s basement…

His mind wandered to Lydia and the _one_ time he witnessed her naked—after she’d gone missing from the hospital, disappearing into the woods for days. She’d come out of that shivering from the cold, her hair a frizzy mess, standing in front of the police search squad and wondering why no one was offering her a jacket. He’d always wondered what it’d be like having her disheveled like that under him, and he’d hated how Jackson didn’t need any of his mental olympics. Jackson could have Lydia without forcing himself on her…

He wheezed as he threw his hand off his dick. This was going nowhere and fast. His brain had a history of sabotaging itself, but he could _cope_ with jerking through the persistent memory of Derek’s muscular torso after rehashing why it’d worked on Danny so well. He could _deal_ with thinking of Lydia and having Jackson pop out of nowhere, cockblocking him or, worse, taking Lydia’s place. And now that he actually _knew_ what Jackson looked like in the buff, his stupid brain required practically nothing to start making assumptions about what Jackson’s dick could be like. He’d _prefer_ those tangents to what he had now.

He grudgingly went over to his computer and booted up his porn collection. After scrolling through his entire regular collection and finding nothing that interested him, he grumbled and went into his gay folder. He’d once spent hours watching gay porn, coming to the conclusion that he should download more anal sex videos with girls, particularly the ones where the girl wore a strap-on. But there were a _few_ he’d kept for posterity. 

>> STILES: How would you rate my wardrobe from 0 to gay?

>> JACKSON: Are you kidding me?

>> STILES: My dad says I can’t be gay because of the way I dress

>> STILES: Maybe I need an intervention like on Queer Eye for the Straight Guy

>> JACKSON: Is that even still a thing?

>> STILES: I don’t know

>> STILES: I’d ask Danny for advice but he’s yet to answer if I’m attractive to gay guys

>> JACKSON: Why the hell do you care if you’re attractive to gay guys?

>> STILES: I was trying to figure out if Danny likes me

Because becoming a werewolf turned Scott into the hot girl, with everyone wanting to be Scott or be _with_ Scott. And even Stiles was attracted to Scott’s newfound heroism. He’d needed _some_ sort of reassurance that he had something going for him too.

Asking for it from Jackson was a waste of time.

>> STILES: Forget I said anything

>> JACKSON: I’d love to forget /everything/ you say

>> STILES: Jerk

He wasn’t sure how he felt about men, but he knew bisexuality was a thing. He’d thought long and deep about it after he made out with Caitlin. She said she liked girls and also liked boys before asking if he liked boys too. But he didn’t like boys. Not really. Jackson and Derek were just anomalies within his endless fantasies of smoking hot women. Maybe what he was sexually attracted to was intimidation because _that_ seemed to be a trend that culminated in him dating a feral coyote.

>> STILES: I wanna ask something real for a sec…

>> STILES: Just please don’t be sarcastic about it…

>> JACKSON: Okay?

>> STILES: Have you ever had sexual fantasies about guys?

>> JACKSON: Gender’s irrelevant to my fantasies

>> STILES: Come on, I really need you to be serious right now

>> JACKSON: If I was joking, I’d say haha

>> STILES: I’ve never seen you say haha

>> JACKSON: Because I haven’t been joking

>> STILES: Omfg I hate you so much

>> STILES: But I’ve been thinking…

>> STILES: Is it possible to like the idea of guys without actually liking any guys?

>> JACKSON: Yeah. Just ask any single straight woman ever

>> STILES: You are the literal worst

>> STILES: What else is new

>> STILES: I’m going to bed

He sighed and lubed up a finger. If nothing else, Jackson finally got his brain going down a path he was used to. He didn’t need to understand how he felt about guys right now. This was about him and his fantasies, fantasies that were returning to normal. His hands were his. His dick was his. And his pleasure would be his too. Didn’t matter which team he played ball for as long as he got a home run.


	8. Chapter 8

Stiles was pumped for Christmas vacation. Specifically for Thanksgiving 2.0, just with a different color scheme and more days off from school. Not to mention the presents. Family tradition called for Christmas Eve to be at Scott’s house because it was bigger, a good thing too since this year had the addition of girlfriends. 

Malia came with her dad, who Stiles was still wary of. Mr. Tate just happened to make a hostile first impression when he sought out the coyote he believed killed Malia, not to mention being the reason Lydia got caught in a bear trap. But he’d calmed down considerably in the last few weeks, even apologizing for his rashness when Malia came clean about being a werecoyote. And he got along with Dad by virtue of them both being into fishing.

Kira came alone after her parents came up with the terrible excuse that they don’t celebrate Christmas despite eating mass amounts of food being nondenominational. Stiles wasn’t about to challenge the decision when it made things conveniently less awkward for him, _especially_ when it meant Kira was allowed into Scott’s life in a way Allison’s parents would never allow. And Scott wearing a dark navy button-down was already a change in the right direction.

Stiles assisted Scott’s mom in the kitchen while Dad and Scott were in charge of setting the table and doing the dishes after—‘after’ being a lenient term with the impending food comas. Melissa already had the guest room set up for the inevitable sleepover Dad would waffle about before caving in. Admittedly, there wasn’t much cooking to be done since he and Dad bought most of the side dishes, but being Melissa’s trusty sous chef gave him something to focus on, reducing the likelihood of him causing trouble with his restlessness. He used to be the same way around Mom, and Melissa was the closest thing to a mom he had left. 

Having Malia around meant one more person to ground him as they put the final touches on the plated food. In the meantime, Mr. Tate and Kira hung out with Dad and Scott in the living room with eggnog and trivia board games.

Dinner went about as smoothly as Stiles suspected, awkward but nowhere near Thanksgiving... or dinner at Jackson’s. 

After getting stuffed, the evening called for a holiday movie or two, which was always something to look forward to. 

Mr. Tate sat in the armchair as Dad and Melissa took the couch. Stiles and Scott both took to the carpet, urging Malia and Kira to take the remaining seats. Each of them wrote in their choice of movie on a scrap of paper before dropping it into a Santa hat. 

Melissa shook the hat before reaching inside, her expression tightening as she unfolded the paper. Dad looked over her shoulder and frowned.

“You sure you want to watch that, kiddo?” Dad asked cautiously. 

The scrawl on the paper was Stiles’s, the same movie he suggested every year without fail— _The Nightmare Before Christmas_. “It’s a kid’s movie,” he asserted, “with catchy songs.” Which he knew word-for-word. And no way was he giving away his win at random pick. 

“Don’t you think we’ve already had enough nightmares before Christmas?”

“I think it’s entirely appropriate after what we’ve been through.”

He’d seen this film a million times. There wasn’t _anything_ in it that could surprise him anymore.

 

#

 

Jackson found himself with Lydia for Christmas Eve. They sat at a nice restaurant with Lydia’s mother, making small talk as though the last ten months hadn’t happened. Natalie wasn't the most warm and welcoming person, but she fully supported them being back together—always seeing only the best in Jackson and championing the idea of Lydia marrying him.

When Natalie asked about Jackson’s prospects, he swallowed down his shame. The prestige of being captain of the lacrosse team clouded his better judgment. Lacrosse was a professional dead end, and swimming was where his future was supposed to lay. He had the stuff to make it all the way to the Olympics if superpowers hadn’t turned him into a cheater and Matt hadn’t corrupted his head. 

He told Natalie how his parents were encouraging him to get a political science degree before heading off to law school. The plan would get adjusted based on where he got accepted and where he and Lydia decided to settle down. He used to assume all Lydia ever wanted was to marry rich and never work a day in her life, but Lydia had taken the SATs early and her score was perfect. She wanted to major in Aerospace Engineering and was applying to every top school in the country. Jackson should have been proud for her, but he couldn’t stop remembering how many years she’d lied about who she truly was.

The night winded down at Lydia’s grandmother’s lake house just at the edge of Beacon County, just him and Lydia while Natalie gave them their space. He had his own room at the house, though that was on a technicality. Whenever they’d spent time here during the summer months, Lydia would always make her way from her room to his before the night was over.

The nostalgia was grounding despite his wolf’s grumblings, and the new moon wasn’t helping with the wolf’s moodiness. When would he finally learn there was no use in chasing greener pasture? He loved Lydia, and they had a future together. That was better than any fantasy. 

He’d yet to change out of his argyle sweater and white slacks when Lydia appeared at his door. She was still wearing her dress, a slinky silk thing that did everything for her curves. Demure as ever, even with a cloud of death hanging off her shoulder.

“You need anything?” he hedged.

She sounded almost innocent as she asked, “Want to watch a movie?”

He’d been waiting for the day she’d bring it up, and it was almost laughable how relieved he was that the day had finally arrived. “Do I even need to guess which one?”

There was an ease to their old groove, with the _The Notebook_ playing and Lydia draped over his side. He never understood what she got out of the sappy romance except that it reminded her of her late grandmother. It was possibly the only reason he didn’t go completely nuts having to watch it so many times. There was just nothing for him to care about except the ending credits.

 

#

 

Stiles stared at the screen as all his muscles locked in place, the familiar sounds of the opening to _The Nightmare Before Christmas_ turning gurgled and incomprehensible. The trees had doors in them, and the doors were meant to stayed closed. But a skeletal man would soon enter a door he wasn’t supposed to, making Christmas into a riddle to be solved. 

The nogitsune always had a thing for riddles.

_Everyone has it;_

_But no one can lose it;_

_What is it?_

_What is it?_

He bit his lip, unwilling to answer. Nothing was real anymore, just a big blur rushing against a white background. Snow. Metal. He was back in the MRI machine. 

_What’s this?_

_What’s this?_

He swallowed down a lump in his throat as the tune for “What’s this?” taunted him. Ever since he was little he’d sung along to it while mischievously poking everyone he could reach. But he couldn’t move. If he moved he might say it. He might answer with ‘my shadow’ and it’d become another open sesame into his body. What if Chris and Isaac hadn’t disposed of the nogitsune properly? 

What if he lost himself again? 

The “Oogie Boogie’s Song” came on, and he could feel the life seeping out of him. Tied down to a roulette machine as it terrorized him with glee. With no one to save him. He couldn’t stop shaking. His vision blurred and his lungs refused to respond. He was dying, his heart exploding, his lungs collapsing. A slow death that radiated out from his chest, climbing his spine with the sharpness of a knife. His skull felt like it was going to crack open from the pressure. He was going to pass out. He was going to…

Everything in front of him went black.

The living room lights came on and Scott was holding the remote. 

A buzzing sensation ran down his fingers, and he looked down to find himself in a white knuckle grip. He jolted upright when hands came down on his shoulders, but it was just Malia. He blinked away black spots in his eyes as he swayed on his feet. The opening to _Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer_ struck like a siren in his ears. 

He ran. He ran before he knew he was running. And he didn’t stop until he collapsed onto Scott’s bed. Time stopped making sense and he wasn’t sure if it was seconds or minutes before Malia was lying next to him, running fingers through his hair.

“I keep putting you in the middle of my shit,” he whispered. “Tonight was supposed to be fun and I screwed that up.”

“It’s okay.” She smiled. “I didn’t like the movie anyway.”

He scoffed as he wiggled closer to her warmth. But it didn’t stave off the images behind his eyelids. Dreams where he found himself standing in the basement, looking into the torn hole in the wall and nothing there besides dust and cobwebs—a vision of what could have been if he’d refused the nogitsune. When he’d turn around, there’d be no one there to taze him. In the silence, he’d move deeper into the room, pausing at the figure sitting in a chair. The closer he got to Malia, the more unnerving her stillness became—until he saw it. Her head hung to the side with lifeless eyes staring up at him and blood running down her face from the gaping hole in her temple. And the drill was in his hands as a pool of blood wetted his bare toes.

“Stiles,” Malia said softly. “Stiles, you’re crying.”

“Huh?” He rubbed his face to find it wet. _Fuck._ “Shit, just… just give me a minute.”

He dashed to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face. It felt good on his heated skin, but his chest tightened when he checked his reflection, expecting something dark standing behind him. Everyone was waiting for the old him to return. They wanted it to be over—demon gone, Stiles good as new. But the monster had worn his face, and he still saw it in his eyes, taunting him. Taunting everyone he loved. 

Malia stood in the doorway. “You look like you’re about to keel over.”

“I’ll be okay,” he lied. His heart was doing too many jumping-jacks for the uptick in his pulse to give it away. He looked at her and all he saw was a choice that was never really a choice. He’d never let Malia die, no matter how much it hurt him in the end. “I think I’m gonna go for a ride to clear my head.”

“Maybe I should come with you.”

“No. Just… I just need some air… alone.”

“Okay,” Malia said hesitantly. “How long do you think you’ll be gone?”

“I don’t know. Okay? Don’t wait up. I… I might not come back for a while.”

 

#

 

Jackson forgot the last time he paid any attention to the plot of _The Notebook_ instead of counting down the minutes until the credits rolled and the real fun began. A notebook full of lost memories, a film about holding on to the past, a dedicated effort to keep love from fading into nonexistence. 

Lydia was his again, warm and comforting, and he imagined himself waking up beside her morning after morning, a lifetime of waking up together, building memories to look back on. But the history they already shared? If he hadn’t fucked up… if she hadn’t kept secrets… what sort of new memories would the future hold? Did she really want _him_ or just the reminder of their good days? What did _he_ even want anymore with the past he’d had? 

“Are you shedding a tear?” Lydia asked.

He swiftly rubbed his eyes. “No. This is a stupid movie. I can’t believe you convinced me to watch it again.”

He was saved from further scrutiny when his phone chimed. He’d absently turned the sound back on; in less than a week, he’d become too used to the incessant chirping at hellish hours of the night.

“Was that… R2-D2?” Lydia asked with a tilt of her head. “Why is your ringtone set to the droid from Star Wars?”

“It’s only set for _one_ talkative asshole.”

He reached the thing by the second ring.

>> STILES: I know you’re out doing your thing

>> STILES: I know you won’t read this until later

>> JACKSON: What’s going on?

>> STILES: FWGSERSRLGKNWAL

>> STILES: STOP BEING AMAZING AT ANSWERING MY TEXTS I’LL START TO THINK YOU LIKE ME OR SOMETHING

>> STILES: Help

>> STILES: I’m in my Jeep and I’m thinking of really fatal things to do with it

A cold sweat beading his skin as his wolf primed for action, thankful his duffle bag was still mostly packed. Stiles’s absence of self-preservation was doing neither of them any good. 

“What’s wrong?” Lydia asked, picking up on the confusion and frustration.

>> JACKSON: Meet me at my place

>> JACKSON: No one is home

>> JACKSON: There’s a spare key under the flower pot by the backdoor

“I have to go,” he said in between more typing. “Like _right now_.”

>> JACKSON: Don’t you fucking dare die in my house

“ _Where_ exactly are you going?” Lydia demanded as she followed him down the stairs. “You don’t have your car.”

“Home. And I’m a fucking werewolf, I can handle this on foot.”

Her gaze darted to the phone he was pocketing, and she frowned. “Who’s texting you?”

If only he could dodge the answer, but chances were she’d talk to Stiles and put two and two together. It still baffled him how Lydia and Stiles were on casual speaking terms. 

“It was Stiles. Now stop wasting my time.”

 

#

 

Stiles arrived at Jackson’s in no time. He should have known rich people could easily afford the high electric bill, seeing as the house was lit like everybody’s home. 

The spare key was right where Jackson said it’d be, and he chewed his lip, wondering if this was a new thing. Jackson had made a really big deal out of Lydia having his house key, which, okay, in hindsight Jackson was dealing with someone _breaking into his house_ to mess with a video tape of his transformation. And, with the key, Lydia did have the capability of coming and going unannounced into his personal space, even if Jackson was a jackass about assuming that she would. 

He pocketed the key, afraid of anyone else finding it. At least there was _one_ door he could allow himself to feel secure about.

 

#

 

Jackson grit his teeth the entire ride over, his nerves shot and wolf restless. Lydia insisted on driving, but that didn’t mean he had to tell her shit about what was going on with Stiles. Arguing with her was futile, so painful silence was the next best bet.

Stiles’s Jeep was parked in the driveway when they arrived.

“Thanks,” he offhandedly said as he unfastened his seatbelt.

Lydia shut off the ignition. “I’m coming with you.”

“No.” He’d never won an argument with her in his life, but he needed this. 

“Get your head out of your ass and let me help. Stiles needs us.”

He growled, eyes glowing as his fangs itched at his gums. “He needs _me_.”

Lydia only rolled her eyes. “You think that scares me anymore? I don’t know _what_ is going on between you two, but this isn’t the time to play favorites.”

“Just let me have this. This fucking once,” he begged. He never begged. His pride wouldn’t let him. But he couldn’t have Lydia there, not when she’d take over even though Stiles had asked _him_ for help. _He_ needed to be the one who helped. “Lydia, _please_.”

Shock flashed momentary on Lydia’s face before she schooled her features. She eyed him up and down, sighed, and started the car again. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do when this is over, Jackson.”

He’d take it.

He heaved a sigh of relief as he stood on the pavement and watched her drive away. There was a faint scent of McCall in the air, and he had the distinct feeling _he_ was being watched as well. But McCall could play guard dog as long as he didn’t interfere. The living room already had the shades drawn to block out prying eyes.

He stepped inside to find a splotch of red on the sofa. Stiles sprang up, hair a matted mess and his eyes with dark rings around them. He clutched a pillow to his chest, wearing a blaring combination of red hoodie, solid green button-down, and khaki pants.

“Did you actually run here?” Stiles asked with a choppy laugh.

“No.”

“Oh, thank god. I was gonna ask if I could borrow the cement you use in your hair.”

“You’re gonna need a lot more than cement to tame that creature living on your head.”

Stiles made an attempt to comb his hair with his fingers, but it just made it look worse. “I got tired of shaving it.”

“How? You’ve got nothing else to shave.”

“You an expert on my privates now?”

Jackson pinched the bridge of his nose. “I meant your face, you walking erection.”

Stiles giggle-snorted as tears stained his face, but he didn’t try for any comeback. And Jackson wasn’t about to ask. “Since when have you had a spare key?” Stiles muttered as Jackson went to the kitchen. “Isn’t that how Matt got in?”

Jackson scowled, turning to look Stiles straight in the eye. “That’s… mom used to forget to lock the kitchen door. She doesn’t forget anymore…”

“Oh,” Stiles said, hugging the pillow back to his chest. 

It was silent while Jackson boiled water. And even from across the house, Stiles smelled of cheap cologne and bitter sadness, a combination Jackson was eerily used to. But he was also used to not giving a shit at the way it rubbed at him like caustic chemicals, or else he wouldn’t be able to keep doing his job. This wasn’t a job, though, and he’d already alerted Lydia to him caring. He may as well roll with it.

He set the individual steeping tea cups on the coffee table before grabbing a box of tissues. He’d used the holiday spice tea knowing Stiles liked it last time. Stiles sniffed the tea and made an expression somewhere between sentiment and alarm.

“I hate this,” Stiles exhaled.

“Then why the fuck did you pick it?”

Stiles groaned. “Not the tea. The way I am.”

“Oh, well, then you wouldn’t be the only one,” Jackson mused.

“Asshole.” Stiles frowned into his cup. “You know what’s the worst part is about losing your virginity in the basement of a mental hospital?”

Stiles already vented to him about it during an English class. He wasn’t sure there was anything left to add. “Besides a thousand-year-old fox finding Dracula references amusing?”

“Yes, besides that and the five point restraints and the threat of Malia’s head getting drilled… I didn’t have a condom.”

Jackson held his cup without drinking. “So is this a pregnancy scare thing?”

Stiles squawked. “God, no!” He shuddered. “It’s not about that at all. I pulled out. Okay? We had a whole kick about me ‘freshening up’ the dank stains. Scott says he can’t smell anything different about Malia, but Lydia’s making her take a pregnancy test anyway. In any case, Malia’s not keeping it if it turns out positive.” Stiles tried sipping his tea and recoiled when he burned his mouth. “You know, I’d have gotten laid much sooner if I didn’t leave Heather to get condoms.”

“Who?”

“Heather Jenkins. You had classes with her. How do you not… god, it doesn’t even matter now. She’s dead. But I’d known her since we were three. And she wanted to lose her V-card on her seventeenth birthday. Apparently, to her, I was a sure thing. Can you believe it? Me? Of all people? And of course I wasn’t prepared. I had to go condom hunting in her brother’s room. And you know what happened? The darach got her. Virgin sacrifice! If I’d just stuck my dick in, she’d still be alive!” He reached for a tissue as his eyes watered up. “Malia… it’s my fault that I couldn’t care less about the consequences with her. I just wanted to feel again. Like myself. Like I wasn’t doomed. Just my fucking luck that every girl who actually wants to be with me gets hurt because of me. Malia wouldn’t have even been around if I hadn’t decided to play hero. I just _assumed_ no one wants to remain trapped as a coyote, you know? We were trying to help. Or I was. I couldn’t let that cold case stay cold if I could do something about it.”

Jackson nodded along. “Yeah, but think about it this way: whether she was there or not, the fox would have figured out a way to crawl back inside you. It had a whole mental hospital at its disposal.”

“Even if you’re right…” Stiles wiped his eyes. “Even if there’s a chance of it being true… I still keep _lying_ to her. And even though she can hear it, she doesn’t know why. Because she doesn’t know every time she talks about her dad it’s not her _biological_ dad. She’s adopted, and I… I’ve never had the heart to tell her. I just _can’t_. She doesn’t need to know who her sperm donor is. It would crush her.”

“How bad can it possibly be?”

“We’re talking Peter Hale stuck his dick in a chick when he was our age. Hell, his own sister didn’t trust him. She sucked the memory right out of his head with her alpha claws. And I’m afraid of what Malia might do once she finds out. You had a fucking meltdown when _you_ found out you were adopted. She doesn’t need to know she’s also spawned from fire and brimstone.”

Jackson tamped down on his snarling wolf. “Malia wasn’t there when he was at his worst. It’ll just be stories. All she sees is the con man who’s making everyone believe he’s reformed.”

“Hey, I’m on your side about this.” Stiles blew on his tea before trying to sip it again. “Only reason he’s playing meek is ‘cause coming back from the dead weakened him. The manipulative, narcissistic bastard mauled Lydia _knowing_ it’d wake her bansheeness and give him a backup plan for if— _when_ —he lost. And then the fucker suggested love was the answer to saving you before he literally stabbed you in the back. Probably trying to gain good guy points before trying to steal some of your power or some shit. Oh, and now Peter’s teaching Lydia how to tap into her banshee powers, all for the sake of retrieving the stolen memory.”

Jackson ground his teeth, adrenaline pumping through him as he squeezed his cup. “So he knows?”

“Not yet. He just knows there’s a kid of his running around somewhere, but can you imagine the ways he could use Malia against us? He’d worm his way into her head and turn her against us. Turn her into a killer like him. Can you imagine?”

Jackson scoffed at that. “Fucker should have stayed dead.”

“I sometimes think he had a Plan C in case Plan B didn’t pan out. I’m starting to think his end game is just to outlive Gerard.”

“Scott killed Gerard.”

“Scott _poisoned_ Gerard. We didn’t find out until later that the prick’s dripping black bile in a nursing home.”

Jackson slammed his cup onto the table, spewing tea every which way as Stiles jumped from his seat. The noise echoed across the empty house, and somehow he’d held back just enough to only crack the glass.

“Why isn’t he dead?” Jackson’s wolf growled through him.

“Why are you asking me? We both know Scott would never kick a man while he’s down, even if he _was_ ready to kill Gerard if he lied to Scott’s face and it hurt more people. It’s Chris who’s sentimental about his abusive sack of shit dad.”

Jackson’s claws elongated as he abruptly stood up and started pacing, his wolf on the edge of taking over. “Why haven’t the Hales finished him?”

Stiles chewed his lip. “If I was them…” Guilt and vindictiveness pierced through Stiles’s anxieties. “If I was faced with the man who contributed to my entire family’s death… I’d want to see him suffer. I wouldn’t give him the mercy of a quick end.”

The wolf cried out, and Jackson lost his reigns on the transformation. It wanted blood. It wanted to be the one to make that man suffer.

 

#

 

Stiles backed himself up against a wall, putting as much distance between himself and Jackson before he took hold of the nearest object—a metal lamp pole—in an attempt to arm himself. Jackson had every right to lose it, but Stiles wasn’t about to become collateral damage. The good news was he’d become overwhelmingly in favor of living.

Jackson’s eyes glowed electric blue as fangs and sideburns took over, his face morphing into something unrecognizable. Stiles shuddered at the spine-chilling snap of bones when Jackson bent forward, frantically shucking off his clothes. The sofa hid Jackson from the waist down, but Stiles still craned his neck as Jackson’s brown hair began losing color before white fur sprouted from every inch of exposed skin. Jackson’s face finished stretching into a muzzle, and ears rode to the top of his head. A bushy tail unfurled. 

Stiles’s mouth dropped as a giant, white wolf stood where Jackson once was, nearly five feet tall, and eyes lit up in an eerie blue that almost seemed ghost-like. But its snout was black, along with the lining of its eyes and lips. And there was no looking away from the pink showing around its ears and gums while it was baring its fangs, ears dropped, hackles raised. 

He held the lamp in front of him. “Jackson,” he said in a tight whisper.

The wolf’s attention snapped to him. It snarled as he gulped, ready for the worst. But just as quickly, the wolf sniffed the air and whined, straightening out of its attack stance.

“Jacks, you in there, buddy?”

Its eyes dimmed back to a greenish-gray as it fixated on him with a strange awareness. He exhaled a deep breath when it calmly padded towards him, bumping its snout against his white knuckle.

He smiled and let go of the pole. “Can I… will you bite me if I try to pet you?”

The wolf craned it head to the side, and he decided that was invitation enough. He threaded his fingers in the wolf’s silky mane. So soft. Like a cloud. He scritched behind its ears and under its muzzle, and he didn’t miss the way the tail wagged.

He dropped to his knees and brought his face closer to the fluffy nape. He submerged his nose in it and was hit with the scent of crisp, fresh snow under an unbelievably warm body, like sitting by a fire and drinking hot chocolate as snow heaped outside the window. The wolf jerked away and whacked his face with a giant paw. 

Stiles cracked up laughing. “Yup. Still Jackson in there.”

The wolf— _Jackson_ —huffed and rolled his eyes.

It was strange, though. Jackson, arrogant of arrogants, achieved something neither Scott nor Derek could match, and there hadn’t been a peep. Not a single boast. Like this magnificent creature was a mark of shame. And knowing London, maybe it was. 

“Does Anita know? Is this a kanima thing? Can she shift too?”

Jackson just nodded once.

“Yeah, this isn’t gonna work for me,” he said, having a million questions, most of them needing more than yes or no answers. “You wanna shift back so we can talk?”

The wolf dropped to its haunches and lowered its ears.

“You… can’t?”

Jackson shook his head.

“Ah, shit. Well, I guess this could be worse. You understand me, which is as good as it’s gonna get. I can just pretend it’s like when I’m texting you at odd hours of the day, huh? Me doing most of the talking.”

Wolfy grumbled, though it didn’t seem keen on changing back. Stiles’s fingers found their way back into its mane, and when it didn’t recoil, he let out a sad sigh. There was no avoiding the reason why Jackson’s wolf had a steely hold on him.

“I know a thing or two about people getting into your head,” he said with a tight chest. “And Gerard… he literally got into yours.” The wolf let out a low, drawn-out growl. “Bastard deserves to rot in hell… except we’re in hell too, Jacks. And it doesn’t feel like any of this will end.”

Misery swelled inside him as a wet snout poked his arm. He couldn’t help himself as he wrapped his arms around the wolf’s neck, twisting fingers in the thick fur as he got a face full of fuzz. A wretched sob escaped his throat and every miserable thing in his life crashed in at once. 

“I promised myself… I promised I’d take this to my grave…” he choked out. “Gerard killed you on the field that day… and what he did to me doesn’t compare, but it’s _everything_ to me, Jackson. I got a face full of geriatric fist, and I just… I didn’t even care that it hurt.” His breath hitched as heavy tears slipped down his face. “He kidnapped me, Jackson, and the entire time I was sure Scott would burst through the door and save me… but Gerard, he just let me go when he was done. He tried to use me. To send a message. To Scott… Derek. To both? Scott said he didn’t even have time to realize I went missing till my dad freaked. He was set on going looking for me, but you… the kanima crisis reached a breaking point. And no one knows what really happened to me that day. Gerard tried to use my face as his billboard… and I… I didn’t to let him, Jackson. I refused to let him break me… I refused to let him into my head.”

He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand, but it didn’t stop the tears from rolling. He was tired from months of not sleeping right. The nogitsune wormed its way into him before he knew what was even happening. The sleepwalking and the bending of reality until he couldn’t differentiate what’s real or a dream. The very same symptoms of the disease that took his mom. Dad took him to the hospital, because what else were they supposed to think? And the MRI scan brought up the same damaged brain as Mom’s. Scott had been willing to bite him if it came down to it.

The nogitsune made everyone think he was sick. It reduced his entire life to that one grim word— _sick_. And then it taught him the meaning of sickness by making him crave other people’s agony. Become insatiable for it. Becoming exactly like the void.

He hacked as he struggled for air, his nose clogged and throat in knots. There wasn’t any innocence left for him in this world. Why couldn’t things remain normal and safe and boring? Why did it have to be one funeral march after another, with living nightmares plaguing the streets? Why did everything need to be chewed up until their remains became unrecognizable and then thrown out into the world, expected to pretend this was fine, this was normal. This wasn’t normal. The morgue shouldn’t be at over-capacity with bodies. But this was his life now.

They put Mom in the ground, and she was never coming back. Nor were any of his friends. Second chances only happened for evil beings that _needed_ to stay the fuck dead. 

But Jackson was alive. Jackson managed to crawl out from the grave and turn into something not worse than before. _Sometimes the shape you take reflects the person that you are._ The snake was gone, replaced by a wolf. And the wolf pressed against him as he held on, sobbing all over the fur until it turned slimy and clumped.

If Jackson could keep going with the odds stacking against him, why couldn’t he do the same or more? Even with the world against him, he had to keep fighting. Keep living in spite of what the baddies wanted. He couldn’t let them win; he’d rather die opposing them than die running in shame. And maybe one day, this hell would end. Maybe he didn’t need to bear the agony alone until then.


	9. Chapter 9

Stiles grumbled as he opened his crusty eyes. It was three in the morning, and his blankets were kicked to the foot of the bed. His gaze passed over the white wolf standing in the middle of his room, ears perked as it attentively watched the bedroom door.

He yawned. “No one’s coming, snot wolf. It’s four in the morning. Get back in bed.”

The wolf glanced at him before stalking over to the closed door and snuffing at it. Once it was satisfied, it circled over to the bed and hopped on, the mattress dipping under its weight. It pressed to Stiles’s side, and he hugged it tight before closing his eyes—

He snapped wide awake to something shaking his shoulder. Jackson stood over him, visibly agitated. 

“Wake up, asshat. Your entourage is here.”

He squinted at the light streaming through the window of a foreign room as he unfurled from the blankets he’d burritoed himself in. He vaguely remembered being allowed to crash in Jackson’s guest room.

Jackson disappeared from the room only for Scott and Lydia to fill it. Behind them stood Kira and Malia. It really was an entourage. 

He knew he’d made a scene when he left Scott’s, but he figured he’d have enough time to create some half-truth when he got back. Now everyone knew he’d spent the night at Jackson’s. 

Holy shit, he spent the night at Jackson’s. 

And he was still in one piece.

“You okay?” Scott asked.

“Fine,” Stiles croaked as he sat up and coughed to clear his throat. “Just had to let the steam out, you know? Jackson makes a great punching bag.”

Kira frowned. “You ran like something was chasing you.”

“You’ve been crying,” Malia said, guilt laced in her voice. “But you smell less miserable.”

Stiles furrowed his brows. He supposed he felt better. He wasn’t even afraid of Jackson telling anyone his secret. Not when Jackson had so many secrets of his own.

Lydia tutted as she put her hands on her hips. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Jackson get so fired up to help anybody in his life. He _insisted_ I stay out of it.”

Stiles’s face flushed before something twisted in his stomach. He thought he was over his jealousy, but being reminded Lydia was with Jackson, probably _doing_ things before the desperate texts, made his chest hurt. It was a ridiculous response. Lydia may have kissed him that _one_ time, but it didn’t mean she wanted anything else from him. She’d only tried to ease his panic, and it’d worked. They were _friends_. And their friendship only blossomed ever since he started dating Malia. 

It still hurt.

“Can we continue this later?” he pleaded, suddenly overwhelmed by everyone’s attention. “Like after food and coffee and advil?”

“Yeah, about that,” Scott hedged. “It’s two in the afternoon.”

Stiles threw himself across the bed, toward the nightstand where his phone sat. It was, in fact, 2:13 PM, and Jackson had left him messages warning about the pack converging on the house. There were also messages about coffee being ready and Jackson griping about Stiles choosing _now_ to be figuratively dead to the world. But Jackson hadn’t bothered waking him until the very last minute. Jackson had let him sleep.

Stiles rubbed at his heated face. He forgot the last time he slept like a real person, and he never imagined he’d reach a day when he _wanted_ to thank Jackson for anything.

It felt strange to leave Jackson’s without even saying goodbye. But Jackson was nowhere in sight, and he didn’t want to make another scene.

He looked back through his rear-view mirror as he drove home with Malia by his side. Scott had Kira on his motorbike, and Lydia had wound up driving Malia to the house. Now Lydia was staying behind with Jackson, and Stiles didn’t know how to feel about that.

“How come Jackson’s being overprotective of you?” Malia asked, reeling him back to the present situation. 

He sighed. “I honestly don’t even know anymore.”

“I get it if you can’t talk to me. But you could talk to Scott—he’d understand. You turning to Jackson… everyone keeps telling me that’s unheard of.”

“Obviously it’s unheard of. We’ve got some troubled history. But lately he’s been… tolerable.”

“Stiles,” she pressed. “Tell me what’s going on, for real.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can smell it on you. Whatever weirdness that’s between you and Lydia doesn’t come close to this. You like him, don’t you?”

He damn near swerved the Jeep into a parked car. “Jackson and I are friends _at best_.”

“You keep getting jealous that Jackson’s with Lydia.”

He had to cut his losses if he was going to get through this. “I still have feelings for _Lydia_ , okay? That doesn’t mean I don’t want to be with you. Lydia’s just my first love, and I’m trying _really hard_ to get over it. All right? Jackson has nothing to do with it. _You_ make me happy, Malia.”

“Do I?” she asked, and it was like a stake in his heart. “You’re not over what the nogitsune did to you. And I was a part of that. It’s like I’m hurting you every time we try to be together.”

“Malia.”

“I can see you’re trying, I do. And I keep telling myself you just need time and space. But my coyote wants to keep you close and protect you… it doesn’t get why lizard guy is doing a better job than me.”

“You shouldn’t feel inadequate over this. There’s a million things you do better than Jackson.”

“He’s the one making you happy, though. It’s got me thinking I’d rather see you happy with him than struggling with me.”

“So what are you saying?” he asked, waiting for the devastation to hit.

She fidgeted in her seat. “I guess I’m breaking up with you? I honestly don’t know how this dating stuff works. You’re the first person I’ve ever been with, and I don’t want to be left alone again. Except the more I hang out with everyone else, the more I realize I have a pack now. I’ve been afraid of losing you, but I’m not afraid anymore. You and I are in this together whether we’re dating or not. So if keeping you safe means breaking up with you, I think I’m okay with that.”

His jaw dropped. If this were last night, he’d be a goner. But he wasn’t losing Malia, not really. “You know I still like you, right?”

“I think I’ll always like you too… just not as a boyfriend. Is that okay?”

He chewed his lip as he mulled it over. “Okay… but _Jackson_?”

His mind kept wandering to the day before. The warmth of Jackson’s wolf and how safe he felt while hugging it. 

He found himself missing Jackson, but missing Jackson meant caring that he wasn’t around.

 

#

 

Jackson watched from his bedroom window as Stiles drove away, girlfriend in the passenger seat. He’d been unable to able to say goodbye without it tearing him inside. So he ran, like he always did.

Stiles could have clung to anyone as he cried his eyes out until his bones stopped shaking. McCall had been ready to step in. It didn’t matter how nice it’d felt being held by Stiles like he was precious. Stiles wasn’t his; he had no right to stake a claim. Stiles had no slightest clue how much of his scent he’d rubbed off on Jackson during his snotfest. He needed another shower to get Stiles’s scent off him, no matter how much his wolf dreaded the very thought of scrubbing it away. There was too much at stake to simply fall into Stiles’s arms. 

He clenched his jaw and turned around to face Lydia as she sauntered into his room. She sat on the bed, expecting him to take a seat beside her, but he pressed up against his desk instead and swallowed around the tightness in his throat.

“So,” she started, judging the distance between them before giving him a tight-lipped smile. “You and Stiles.”

“Stiles had a panic attack and spent the night bawling his eyes out,” he said with a shrug. “Then he was too exhausted to drive, so I gave him the spare room.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

He growled. He kept forgetting the _real_ Lydia saw a lot more than she let on. 

It wasn’t like he ever hid his sexuality. Even as a toddler, his parents let him entertain the idea of marriage with Isaac, before he understood what it meant. He just never made a habit of bragging about what made his dick hard unless it had to do with Lydia. Everyone understood there’d be hell to pay if they touched her while she was his.

“You seriously believe I’d cheat on you… _with him_?”

“No. I don’t think you’d _cheat_.”

Her heartbeat was steady, but he could still pick out the jealousy in her scent. “Then why are you making a big deal out of it? Even if Stiles was _capable_ of feeling the same, he can go be sexually confused with his girlfriend.”

“So there _is_ something more going on.” 

He caught the slight tremble to her voice, like she wasn’t just tightening the leash on him. “The only thing going on is a giant headache.”

“I know this is new to you,” she said, “but Stiles and I are _friends_. I care about him. And I wanted to _help_ before you decided you need to play hero.”

“I wasn’t playing,” he grit out. 

“Yeah, I can see that now. You _actually_ care about him.”

Jackson rolled his eyes so he didn’t have to look at her.

He cared too much, and it had loosened his hold on his wolf.

Losing control the way that he had… it was just asking for a death sentence. His wolf was as much of an abomination as the kanima, a thing created out of a near death experience. But while Anita’s full-shift was revered, his wolf’s existence was a direct challenge to the status quo. Dominic warned him of the people who’d take it as a spit to the face, this low-grade outsider achieving something only alphas and leaders deserved. 

If word spread, he doubted he’d be able to get out of it alive. And the people he cared about would get caught in the cross-fire.

“What do you get out of being with me?” he asked. 

He’d chosen Lydia. Like she wanted him to. Like he was supposed to. They’d been together for five years, and they could be together for fifty more if he just _accepted_ it.

Lydia blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“Why are we even dating? Do you _want_ me hurting you again?”

Lydia canted her head and sighed dramatically. “Obviously not. It’s in the past.”

“The past,” he scoffed. “We keep trying to bring back our past, but they’re as flimsy as the words written in a stupid notebook.”

Lydia stiffened, but her rising pulse didn’t bring with it the scent of bottled rage. It was that fear again. “I’d like to believe what we have is stronger than anterograde amnesia.”

“I keep fucking it up with you,” he said. “I thought I was better, but I can’t…” He couldn’t keep her safe when he couldn’t even keep himself safe.

She pursed her lips. “So you aren’t even going to try?”

His silence was damning.

“Well,” she said sharply. “If there’s one thing Stiles has over me, it’s being more impervious to your bullshit. If you ever hurt him, he’d go out of his way to destroy you.”

It shouldn’t have stung as much as it did. She was his anchor. She was supposed to keep him grounded when nothing else went right. But he was drowning, and Lydia only knew how to drag him down deeper.

“I love you, Lydia, I do. But let’s not kid ourselves. I’ll never be enough for you. For _anyone_. So you need to move the fuck on, for both of us.”

Lydia’s eyes flared as she stood. “You’re wrong, but doesn’t matter what _I_ think anymore. I’ll see myself out.”

There was nothing more to be said as she left.

And then he called Danny to fill the empty space.

 

#

 

Stiles drove Malia home only to have Mr. Tate insist on him staying for lunch. 

The man persisted even after finding out about the break-up. Mr. Tate thought Stiles was very mature for staying friends with his daughter, and he looked at Malia more proudly than the day Stiles announced he and Malia _started_ dating.

Stiles’s thoughts lingered more about his weirdness with Jackson than about the weirdness of his sudden ex-girlfriend. He was unable to shake the memory of Jackson’s real smile when he wasn’t being a condescending jerk or the way Jackson’s wolf felt right in his arms. He wasn’t sure how to approach the guy now that they had their touchy-feely moment, and Malia’s assertions only complicated things more.

His head was in a weird spot, and that historically led to regrettable choices. But he somehow withheld from texting Jackson the moment he got home. 

He lay on his mattress and stared up at the ceiling, seriously considering just telling Scott everything going on in his head. He couldn’t understand what was stopping him. They always helped one another with their panic attacks. They could both talk about how they were mentally fucked by the sacrifice. And Scott had a taste of fugue states and nightmares because of Peter’s alpha mind control. Scott certainly knew what break-ups felt like.

Lucky for him that Scott texted first.

>> SCOTT: Malia just messaged me. Should I come over?

Stiles mulled it over.

>> STILES: I don’t want to talk about it

>> SCOTT: We can just game or something

Stiles agreed on the condition that Scott wouldn’t go easy on him. 

But waiting for Scott to arrive meant more time alone with his thought. His fingers hovered over his phone screen as he pressed on Danny’s name.

>> STILES: Your best friend is ruining my life

>> DANNY: Sounds mutual to me

>> DANNY: Good news is Jackson finally sounds like he’s through with Lydia

Stiles rubbed his heated face. He didn’t think they’d break up this fast. On the same day as Malia broke up with him.

But he couldn’t bring himself to regret his time with Jackson.

>> STILES: Three times is a pattern

>> DANNY: About damn time too

>> DANNY: The girl pitted Jackson against Scott

>> DANNY: He wouldn’t have given a shit about getting the Bite if he wasn’t driven to his breaking point

>> DANNY: And for what?

>> DANNY: Her approval

Stiles remembered that day Lydia worked her seductress skills in the hospital, getting Jackson to take extra cortisone shots so he wouldn’t get benched. It’d solidified his theory that she was using him as a body shield against the advances of other guys. And he’d felt no sympathy for Jackson back then. In fact, his attraction to Lydia only heightened at her being a schemer just like him.

>> STILES: Lydia’s grown out of that

>> DANNY: So what?

>> DANNY: Her perfectionism isn’t going anywhere

>> DANNY: And we both know Jackson’s obsessed with being perfect.

Stiles stared at his screen. He’d never seen Danny mad a day in his life, and he was afraid to respond. 

He typed out “As though Jackson is anything but perfect” before deleting it. 

>> STILES: Won’t take long for Jackson to find someone new

>> STILES: He’s got everyone swooning over him

>> DANNY: Well, I’m not. I dunno about Scott. I sure as hell hope Derek’s isn’t

Stiles opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. When he said everyone, he forgot who ‘everyone’ involved.

>> STILES: I regret telling you anything

>> DANNY: As you should

 

#

 

Jackson parked in front of a building complex in the abandoned warehouse district. It was about as desolate and forlorn as the burnt house, exactly the sort of place Derek would choose to move to. Except the way Danny remembered it, there’d been a black light party hosted at Derek’s loft—without Derek’s knowledge. The place had been packed with attendees, all people who just assumed it was just being grunge and ‘underground.’

He wasn’t sure he was thankful for Danny knowing the address.

He sighed and palmed his car keys with the USB stick was still attached to them. He wished Cora was still around so he wouldn’t need to face Derek again. And seeing as Derek wasn’t in a stalking mood, he was finished waiting for his hand to be forced. 

He didn’t _have_ to pass on the information on the thumb drive. But Anita’s voice rung in his head, telling him the remaining Hales had a right to know. And if he was already burning bridges, he may as well go through all of them at once.

He knocked on the loft door, not sure what to expect. Certainly not Peter Hale standing before him with a crooked grin across his face. Jackson bit back a growl as his wolf wanted nothing more than to claw at that smug expression.

But he wasn’t stupid enough to try to take Peter in a fair fight.

“Look who’s back,” Peter said. “Haven’t you heard? Derek’s not alpha anymore.”

“You don’t live here.”

“No, I don’t. What’s it to you?”

“Where’s Derek?”

“He’s out,” Peter conceded. “But you’re welcome to wait inside… if it’s that important to you.”

Jackson didn’t turn his back to Peter as he stepped inside. The loft was bleak and barely furnished, with walls of exposed brick and a giant paned window fogged over with years of crud. Most of the light came from the yellow building lights from outside, but there was also a lit desk lamp and an electric menorah with eight flame-shaped lightbulbs—one raised higher than the others.

Part of him expected the inevitability of facing the man again, but not this soon. Peter had a cozy fucking existence as he remained within the safe confines of Beacon County, playing the reformed wolf and biding his time, waiting until he had every piece in place again before his next gambit for power. Jackson didn’t know whether the six year coma was what made Peter into the man he was today, but it didn’t matter. Peter had a thirst for blood that couldn’t be quenched even after ripping Kate Argent’s throat out, and it’d taken Jackson setting him on fire and Derek tearing his throat out to put a stop to Peter’s alpha lust.

Jackson couldn’t stand it.

He adjusted his jacket, noting the way Peter’s expression closed off the moment he caught sight of the holstered gun strapped to Jackson’s chest. It’d been a precaution against Derek, but the idea of making Peter suffer was far more satisfying.

“So they made you a gunner after all,” Peter said knowingly, claws and fangs extending, eyes glowing ice blue. 

“One of the best.”

Peter surged forward as Jackson swiveled to the side in a single, finely-tuned motion, firing two shots to Peter’s knees and throwing off his momentum. Peter slammed to the ground, howling in pain. Jackson aimed for the head next; it’d be so easy to take the man out in the sorry state he was in now. 

“Why didn’t you end him?” he demanded. “Why’d you let Gerard go?”

“This is what I get for saving your life?” Peter goaded between sharp breaths.

“You’re not stupid enough to believe in the power of love. You were trying to win points with Derek before quietly becoming kanima master yourself.”

If this were a job, he’d be wasting precious time. There was no point in wasting wolfsbane when blowing a wolf’s brains out was cheaper and less suspicious to forensics. And that meant Peter, as weakened as he was, was still healing as the spoke. 

Peter had to have known it too as lay on his stomach, raking the concrete with his claws and wincing as he tried and failed to get up on all fours. “You’re a mystery, Jackson, even to me. Lydia… her grandmother was a known banshee, and these things tend to skip generations. But you? I knew there was more to you since the day I witnessed Derek’s scratch glow near my alpha claws.”

Jackson resisted rubbing the scar. “Is that what you tried to do? Tried to see if you could steal some kanima power with the help of Derek’s claws?”

“The claws access information… information I’m missing about you. And I don’t like not knowing. Not when this forsaken town used to be ruled by the Hales. It used to be _mine_.”

Jackson sneered. “Guess you decided my mom was _yours_ too.”

He’d always felt something was different about him, deep down where he could never really touch it. Becoming a werewolf was supposed to unlock his potential. It was supposed to fix the broken bits inside him.

Peter flinched, his wolf receding and his human face taking on wide eyes and parted lips. “You… You’re the one Talia took from me?”

“No. I’m your _other_ broken condom.” His finger twitched on the trigger. Peter had been his age at the time. “You should look into that before you ruin even more lives. Now answer my fucking question. Why haven’t you killed Gerard yet?”

“You’re quite persistent in your grudges… much like myself. But killing that man… it’s not as sweet as dragging my claws through Kate’s throat.” Peter’s lip curled as his voice turned dark. “No. He deserves humiliation. He deserves to know what it’s like to slowly die inside. And you, of all people, should be pleased by Gerard’s body caving in on itself as it rejects its wolf. It’s exactly the hell he deserves… son.”

A chill ran up Jackson’s spine.

“We’re not on the same side,” Jackson said, more to himself than to the bleeding monster on the floor. “This doesn’t put us on the same side. And you better get that through your skull and quick because I’m done with your shit. I’m done with you.”

He pulled the trigger.


	10. Chapter 10

Stiles was glad he had Scott around. 

Dad was off at work, which gave them the house to themselves as they played endless Mario Kart in the living room. 

They were in the middle of a match when the doorbell rang. The pizza delivery guy had already came and went, so there wasn’t anyone they were expecting. 

Stiles cautiously checked the window to see who it was, and his mouth dropped when the person standing on the other side was none other than Derek Hale in the flesh, scruffy beard and leather jacket included. 

He wasn’t afraid of the surly twenty-four-year-old like he used to be. They weren’t exactly friends, but they weren’t enemies either. And although Derek had kept his distance during the summer after he learned his lesson about treating Scott like he was less than gum under his shoe, once the alpha pack revealed themselves, Derek started acting more like a begrudging ally than frenemy. 

Stiles hadn’t thought they could ever be more than that, but there was something else there these days. 

Or at least there _was_ up until the nogitsune literally crawled under Derek’s skin and unhinged his darkest desire to set Chris Argent on fire as retribution for Kate. 

Stiles wasn’t sure where they stood now. 

The moment he opened the door, Derek pushed his way inside.

“Scott,” Derek said, putting up appearances even though there was something ragged and weary beneath his posturing.

“Derek?”

“Stiles,” Stiles mumbled as he shut the door.

Derek glanced at him briefly before he wrinkled his nose in obvious distaste. 

Stiles felt heat creep up his neck—Derek didn’t need to clarify why. Stiles was wearing the same hoodie that he’d worn to Jackson’s, and there were strands of white fur still stubbornly stuck to it. 

“What’s wrong?” Scott asked.

Derek sighed heavily as he reached into his jacket pocket to reveal a USB stick. “I take my eyes off Jackson for _one minute_ , and he goes and leaves this at the loft… right after he shot Peter.”

Scott’s horrified expression mirrored Stiles’s. 

“Peter’s still alive,” Derek clarified, allowing air back into the room. “Jackson didn’t shoot with the intention to kill. He wasn’t even using wolfsbane bullets. Just shattered both of Peter’s knees before popping one more in his shoulder.”

Stiles surged with pride. Killing Peter would solve so many problems, and yet Jackson clearly didn’t want any more bodies on his conscience, no matter how much Peter deserved it. 

“Good boy,” he said under his breath. Except he forgot was dealing with two werewolves, who heard him and both did a double-take. “I mean, how terrible. For Peter. Whose wellbeing we care so deeply about.”

Scott was the first to shake it off. “What’s Jackson doing with a gun anyway?”

“That’d be my first question too,” Derek said pointedly before turning to Stiles. “You didn’t tell him.”

“Tell me what?” Scott asked uncertainly.

Stiles’s stomach dropped. Scott wasn’t supposed to find out.

“That you’ve got a professional killer on your hands,” Derek said in his stead. “My mother had been in a position to protect me from knowing. But this?” Derek shook his head at Stiles. It wasn’t his typical annoyance or disappointment… it was _betrayal_. “Peter’s confirmed everything. Seems London’s ruined Jackson more than the Bite itself. They’ve trained him to murder people. Knowingly. In cold blood.” 

Scott paled, but just as he opened his mouth to reply, Stiles exclaimed, “And they threw him out once he decided he was _finished_ killing.” If Derek had really been lurking the night of the full moon, he should have known that too.

“You’re really going to believe him on that?” Derek growled as he crossed his arms. “Don’t forget how he was willing to sell us out to the Argents because he wasn’t getting his way. How do you know he’s not working for someone _right now_?”

Derek had every right to be suspicious. Both Kate and Jennifer had wriggled their way into his brain and laid waste to his life. 

Derek didn’t do trust.

On a normal day, Stiles didn’t either. And he was usually on board with wholeheartedly distrusting the shit out of anyone trying to weasel their way into his and Scott’s life. But the Jackson he’d grown to know in the last month wasn’t the same guy he’d spent years drawing horns and mustaches on. 

“He’s done being a pawn in someone else’s game,” he defended. “Though I wouldn’t put it past people to want to set him up to fail.”

Scott’s gaze skittered between Stiles and Derek, and Stiles hated the torn look on his face. It was usually Stiles and Derek on the same side against him. 

“It’s true that Jackson’s been acting different,” Scott said carefully. “But not suspiciously different. Whatever he’s hiding… I don’t think he has any ulterior motives for it.”

“And what if you’re wrong?” Derek asked incredulously. He was practically pleading. “Jackson’s had a special investigator look into his genealogy—it’s all on this thumb drive. Kanimas are created from a mutated werewolf gene, and Jackson didn’t get his from me. No, turns out he’s been carrying it all along. Because of _Peter_.”

Scott furrowed his brow. “Wait, _since when_?”

“My uncle…” Derek sneered. “He went screwing around with Jackson’s mother seventeen years ago.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles said. “Wouldn’t that make Malia his sister? That’d make the two of you _cousins_!”

Derek’s expression twisted in disgust. “Peter’s already admitted to having ‘relations’ around the time of Jackson’s conception. He’d assumed nothing came of it. It’s why Mom didn’t touch those memories along with the _other_ child he seems to have spawned. I don’t know why I’m surprised by any of this. But there’s no telling what sort of alliance will come of _father and son_.”

“This is still Jackson we’re talking about,” Scott said. “He’s not exactly known for subtlety. Even when he tried manipulating Allison into trusting him… she kind of knew what he was doing. She only went along because it wasn’t about anything… this serious.”

Stiles nodded, glad he and Scott were on the same page. “And he was very vocal about it. Literally the opposite of underhanded.”

“How convenient,” Derek deadpanned, “that Jackson’s got you both trusting him now.”

“If _Stiles_ is willing to give Jackson a chance,” Scott said, “then he really needs the benefit of the doubt.” He stole a glimpse at Stiles. “And… as long as he’s not killing people _anymore_ , he hasn’t done anything wrong.”

Stiles could fist pump. For once he was thankful for Scott’s persistence in seeing the best in people. He needed Scott on his side, even if it threatened to permanently etch scowl lines into Derek’s chiseled face. 

“Jackson just happens to return right after everything’s settled down, and neither of you see it. His little stunt with Peter was a warning. Just you watch, the snake’s going to try his hand at becoming alpha himself. To start his _own_ pack. And he’s already taking Stiles right from under you.” 

“Jackson hates me,” Scott said firmly. “But he also sees me as an alpha, maybe not _his_ alpha, but still. I don’t think he wants to be alpha now that he gets the amount of responsibility involved.”

“Are you willing to bet your life on it, Scott?”

Scott sucked in a sharp breath. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

Derek shook his head and tsked. “I wouldn’t. But that’s the thing about Jackson—he’s everyone’s mistake.” He tossed the USB stick to Scott, who caught it with ease. “You’ll just have to figure that out the hard way.” Derek then gave Stiles one last wary glance before storming out. “I wouldn’t let him into my head so easily if I was you.”

Stiles’s throat dried as Derek shut the front door. 

Had he let Jackson into his head? Had he compromised himself again? His heart slammed in his chest with the force of a punch to the gut. 

He flinched when a hand touched his back, but it was only Scott trying to comfort him.

“Dude,” Scott said after a minute of sheer silence. “You okay?”

Stiles wiped the cold sweat from his brow. “Did we really just defend Jackson even after finding out he’s the spawn of the devil?”

“Yeah, but if it helps, you always thought he’s the spawn of the devil.”

Stiles snorted. “Thanks for, uh…”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

“No, I do.” He stumbled over his words. “I’d be as worried as Derek if I wasn’t so sure Jackson regretted _everything_. But you gotta know: Jackson’s still a jerk, okay? You haven’t missed much there. The scary skeletons in his closet… Jackson’s really done with that life. And just because I’ve been spending more time with him lately does _not_ mean I know every little thing that’s going on.”

Which was true, to an extent. He didn’t know about the last several hours. 

“It’s okay,” Scott confided. “I know you’d have told me eventually.”

Stiles couldn’t bear the idea of Scott realizing he’s lying. He snatched the flash drive from Scott’s hand. “So are we gonna check out what’s on this thing or not?”

They spent the next half hour poring over the digitized files compiled by the _special_ -special investigator, who was versed in all things supernatural as they combed the ancestry of the Miller family line for any signs of werewolves. 

But there’d been none.

Not until the investigation dug deeper into Jackson’s birth parents, who married straight out of high school. They’d been trying to conceive a baby for three years with no luck before Margaret’s illicit affair. 

“She kept the baby…” Scott said softly. “She kept Jackson.”

Margaret had _wanted_ Jackson, wanted him enough to conceal his origins. And then she died the day he was born, surviving the crash only long enough to deliver him via C-section while on life support.

“Peter actual-motherfucking Hale,” Stiles muttered as he dropped his face into his palms, questioning how he hadn’t seen it sooner. Jackson had the same narcissism, the overwhelming need for vengeance, and, especially, the hunger for greatness. There was even a family resemblance in their cleft chins and resting bitch face; Jackson's gray eyes sometimes looking blue like Peter's. 

Scott turned to Stiles. “This is Jackson’s real lost identity.”

“But a _kanima’s_ identity resolves itself only by the hand of the alpha who bit it. That’d be Derek, regardless of Peter’s… indiscretions.”

“Really? Because Anita may have blamed her mom for not being born a werewolf, but her _identity_ was tied up with wanting to be like her dad. What if Jackson’s was tied up with Peter on some unconscious level?”

Stiles wanted to deny it, but Jackson already shared a subconscious link with Peter—the dreams of the Hale fire couldn’t have come from anyone else. “You saying Peter literally backstabbing Jackson saved him in the end?”

“When you put it like that…” Scott frowned. “Fuck, man. You think Jackson considered it that way too?”

Stiles chewed his lip as he whipped out his phone and stared at the screen. They’d already hurt Jackson enough with their theories. But he needed to tell Jackson _something_.

Scott looked over his shoulder, seeing Jackson’s name in the chat window. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

“No. But that’s never stopped me before.”

>> STILES: Hey, Jacks, I’m not upset at you for shooting Peter. In fact, I’m the opposite of upset with that. And just so we’re clear, it doesn’t matter if he’s your sperm donor. You’ll always be a standard Jackson-level hazard to me

>> STILES: That’s non-negotiable

>> STILES: Deal with it

Jackson immediately responded.

>> JACKSON: Why the fuck did Derek come to you first

Stiles rolled his eyes.

>> STILES: Correction, he came to Scott 

>> STILES: Who just happened to be with me

>> STILES: Tried to convince us you’re up to something, and I kinda defended your honor with Scott as my witness

>> JACKSON: Where’s Derek now?

>> STILES: Sulking probably

>> STILES: He didn’t like that I took Scott’s side

>> JACKSON: This isn’t about you

>> STILES: Why are you so worried? Derek’s a good person underneath the snarls. He just has a hard time expressing it without slamming people against walls

>> JACKSON: Are we still talking about the same guy? 

>> JACKSON: Derek recruited a bunch of troubled teens with the promise of power only to use them as meat shields

>> JACKSON: And he’d have used me too if he had me

Stiles glanced at Scott, who was trying to keep himself busy on his computer. A part of him wished Scott went through with killing Peter while he was still alpha, regardless of whether Derek lied about it being a cure. Maybe then Derek wouldn’t have gone on his power high and mauled Jackson before throwing him in the lake for good measure, like he was trying to double the chances of Jackson dying. Jackson had every reason to refuse to be part of Derek’s pack after that.

>> STILES: Look, I’m not denying that Derek did some fucked up shit as an alpha, okay?

>> STILES: He beat up Scott for the lolz when Scott tried to warn Boyd away

>> STILES: And he’d have sabotaged Scott’s plan with Gerard if he was aware of it, just to claim superiority

>> JACKSON: Derek has /always/ been looking for an excuse to bury me

Stiles couldn’t argue with that. 

>> STILES: Derek comes from a place so broken it’d take decades of therapy to resolve

>> STILES: Besides, you weren’t here when Jennifer, well, more like the darach, used her magic to compel him into trusting her

>> STILES: Losing his alpha powers was probably best for him

>> STILES: Plus he’s chilled since he got Cora back

>> JACKSON: You wouldn’t be so quick to defend him if he went after you

>> STILES: He’s threatened to on several occasions

>> STILES: In fact, Derek’s solution to every threat used to be “kill it”

>> STILES: Remember how he also tried to kill Lydia when he thought /she/ was the kanima

>> JACKSON: But I bet he never once considered solving the nogitsune possession by killing /you/

Stiles’s chest tightened.

Derek hadn’t even been able to believe that he’d be the one possessed in the first place. He thought him too weak and defenseless to be worthwhile for a demon. Was that why Derek constantly got overprotective of him?

Or was Jackson just getting into his head?

>> STILES: This isn’t about me and Derek

>> STILES: It’s about you

>> STILES: It’s very easy not to like you

>> STILES: Hell, I’ve had fantasies about you eating a giant slice of humble pie since grade school

>> STILES: You have no idea how badly I wanted you to lose your money, your looks, your athleticism, …Lydia

>> STILES: I had my heart set on the idea that after we graduated high school I’d catch you flipping burgers and reminiscing about your glory days

Scott cleared his throat, and Stiles was brought back to the moment.

What was he doing? He thought he was over it. What did he have to gain by unleashing decade’s worth of frustration on Jackson _now_? 

>> STILES: I wanted you to KNOW what it means be a nobody and to lose everything…

>> STILES: But not like this. 

>> STILES: Never like this.

 

#

 

Jackson’s teeth chattered as a full-body shiver took hold of him.

>> JACKSON: HOW NICE! 

>> JACKSON: It’s okay if I fail in life, but only if it’s by your standards

>> STILES: That’s what you get for treating everyone like they’re beneath you

>> STILES: But you’ve paid your steep fucking price for it

It was the full moon all over again. Except this time Jackson didn’t have to put up with Stiles’s jabs. 

He turned off his phone and tossed it across his bed. 

He’d time to stop by a Chinese food place before stopping by the video store, and it was getting more and more apparent that Derek was just fucking with him now.

Why else would Derek be taking his sweet ass time in hunting him down? 

Derek didn’t _need_ to check the contents of the USB stick, not when Jackson _shot_ Peter.

Whatever.

It wasn’t like he was looking forward to getting pummeled anyway. 

He’d bought up whichever new DVDs were in available—just because he could. The freedom to get everything except _The Notebook_ always managed to pump him up. And he topped off the pile with a bunch of pornos he could buy with his fake ID. 

If there was one thing that could take his mind off things, it was porn, and he’d stocked himself with plenty of it.

He jerked himself and fell asleep a quarter of the way through the video as the sounds of fucking helped clear out the silence around him. But his wolf was restless, and he kept dreaming of running through the woods, endlessly running. 

After a while, he finally gave up and drove out to the preserve in the darkness.

The shift came easily to him, his wolf grateful for shedding the follies of its human half.

As he ran, his ears tuned into the blowing wind and the crunching beneath his paws. There were skitters beyond a bush, birds flapping overhead. And his nose latched onto the scents of tree bark and fresh earth and wild game. 

But soon enough he found himself at the Hale house again, pulled to it like a magnet as the rankness of mold and decayed wood mingled with the remains of ash.

He used to be terrified of this place, but it was only a place now. 

The charred floorboards creaked under him as he made his way up the porch and to the front door before hopping through a broken window. He landed in the foyer, alone in a house he’s never been alone in before. 

Wind whistled through open gaps in the walls. Beyond that there was only silence, no voices whispering to him, no one to tell him what he should do. No one except for his wolf wandering the halls.

The living room was the only thing that remained of the bottom floor, and it was lived in despite the singed brick and weathered wooden beams. Upstairs were the bedrooms, all untouched except for Derek’s, bedrooms full of lives cut short, their ruined belongings in disarray across the floor. 

The floor was caked with dirt and dust, but not as much as it’d have if Derek hadn’t continued living here after the fire and all the times hunters turned the place into a trap.

The basement was empty aside from the faint scents of people, too fresh to be the remains of the dead Hales who got trapped here.

Jackson didn’t want anything to do with the Hales who survived the fire, but the ones who didn’t… 

If his biological mother had lived, he’d have been a Miller, but it didn’t stop him from imagining a different world where Talia Hale took him in.

From the stories he’d heard, Alpha Hale was as much a shrewd politician as she was a doting mother. She was respected, even revered, for her insight, never asking for more than what she would do in any given situation, herself.

Jackson wanted to believe she was the sort of alpha who’d lovingly raise him in spite of his parent’s mistakes. He wanted to know what it’d have been like to call this his home. 

It’d be worth enduring the fire to have known the love of a distinguished pack.

He had no doubt he’d be one of the bodies trapped here, ten years old and surrounded by family. His latent connection to Peter ensured that his nightmares got the details just right, how Talia used every bit of her strength to try to break the mountain ash barrier and how Peter took the brunt of the flames in order to cover Cora. 

The nameless relatives weren’t nameless after all, their faces so clear and constant that Jackson was able to track them down online, collecting images of them smiling instead of screaming.

He was almost relieved when the wind brought with it Derek’s scent.

He returned to the foot of the stairs and stretched in front of the blackened steps. He rested his head on his dust-caked paws. He wouldn’t mind spending the rest of his days being a sentinel for this monument to the Hales. And if the earth opened up to finally take him, he wouldn’t fight. 

Derek burst through the door, but his contempt immediately changed to awe and disgust. 

Jackson always assumed Derek knew about his wolf, or at least his capacity to full-shift. But in the end, the ‘training’ choke collars and metal cages had just been for Derek’s entertainment. 

Somehow that felt more right.

Jackson returned to his human state, naked and exposed. Just like so many of their confrontations before.

He absently traced the chipped paint on the railing. “Took you long enough.”

“This isn’t your home,” Derek said through his teeth. “You’re not my family.”

Jackson waited for Derek to march forward and punch him in the jaw, to display his dominance and make sure Jackson’s wolf knew to cower. But he could _feel_ the absence of authority over him as Derek’s eyes glowed ice blue. How long would someone like Derek survive in London?

“So do something about it,” Jackson goaded. He never belonged in the first place—he shouldn’t have been conceived, and he shouldn’t have lived through the crash. 

“Who are you working for?” Derek asked instead.

“No one.”

Derek’s face twisted like he was trying to figure out how Jackson could be lying. He flared his nostrils and snarled. “You’re up to _something_. I know it. What do you want with Stiles?”

“Nothing.” But Jackson’s heart skittered from the sense of loss.

Derek sneered triumphantly. “And there it is.”

“Christ,” Jackson said as he threw his hands up. “You should ask what he wants with me instead. He’s been circling like a shark that’s found blood.”

“Well, you’re good at being covered in it. How many people have you killed in London?”

Jackson closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. It didn’t do anything to calm him, not when Derek’s scent hit him. _Fuck._ He thought he was so careful the night of the full moon. He thought there was no way in hell Derek could sneak up on him. But he became so focused on Stiles’s scent that he completely overlooked Derek’s presence.

Derek continued to be one step ahead of him. 

“That many, huh?” Derek scoffed as he put his hands on his hips. “It was only a matter of time until your true colors came to light.”

Jackson didn’t need to be reminded of how he’d chosen this road long before his brain got hijacked. He’d started dating Lydia for the prestige, and he became entitled to it, enough to be blindsided by McCall. 

And he’d channeled every bit of Peter, Matt, and Gerard inside him to survive his months in London. He didn’t know who he was without them anymore.

So what was left for him?

A heavy calm took root in his stomach as he stretch out his arms. “Then end it once and for all,” he said as he met Derek’s gaze. “I’ve got no more revivals in me. So this is your chance. End me. Do it. I don’t care anymore.”

Derek took a step back. “No,” he said, the word falling like an anvil. For a second Jackson swore Derek saw him—really saw him—and not the fictional enemy he’d built up in his head. “I’m not putting another kid to death, even if that kid is you.” He clenched his fists. “I’m a predator, but I don’t have to be a killer.”

Jackson scratched the scar on the nape of his neck. “Why? You never had a problem hurting me before. It’s not like I’m innocent.” He growled in frustration. “I’m giving you an out. There’s no trap. You can finally be rid of me. That’s what you always wanted, wasn’t it?”

Derek huffed, failing to mask the worry beneath his hard expression. “What I _want_ is for you to stop dragging down everyone around you. Stiles will figure you out. He’ll remember why you’re a no-good waste of time. And then there’ll be no one left to bail you out when you fuck up. Which you will. And I’m done having any part in it.”

Derek pointed out the door as he moved aside.

“Leave, Jackson. Before I throw you out.”

Jackson was numb as his wolf took over, dashing from the house before he could test the extent of Derek’s threat.

His vision narrowed to what was directly in front of him, and even that didn’t stop the roots and rocks from snagging on his feet. Everything smelled barren and distant, like it was happening to someone else. He could only hear the blood in his veins, the rasp of his breathing. 

He found himself groping though the forest, hoping he could disappear and no one would know to look for him. But he inevitably returned to the spot with his car, and his human put on clothes before taking the wheel. 

The drive back was a blur, a combination of instinct and muscle memory. 

He wasn’t even thinking when he unlocked the front door. 

His phone was still on his bed. Stiles’s absence grated at him, but it was for the best.

The gun was where he left it in his drawer. His last set of wolfsbane bullets were tucked away in the closet.

For once in his life, he felt no fear. 

Even if he fucked this up, the poison would take him. His wolf didn’t protest, either. It felt guilt for resuscitating him, for springing him back to a world that didn’t need him. He’d be doing everyone a service by disappearing for good.

He never understood what it was like to want to die until the day Gerard commanded him to puncture his own stomach. He’d wanted it too. Wanted it as much as Gerard did. And remembering it now, there was no nausea. There was only the assurance that dying came in two parts: first the bright white scalding pain, and then the numb nothingness. 

Death really was just a long, endless sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

“Shit,” Stiles said as he called Jackson and was immediately was put to voicemail.

It’d been over an hour since he sent his last messages.

>> STILES: I don’t want the same things now that we’re actually friends

>> STILES: Which we are, you asshole

Still no response.

He must have finally got himself blocked for real. All because he let _Derek_ get into his head.

There was little he could do about it now, aside from storming over to Jackson’s place. 

Which he planned to do in the morning.

Scott had gone home and Stiles was in his pajamas when Lydia called.

“Hey, Lyd, what’s—”

“Jackson turned off his phone.”

“Huh?”

“I tried calling and it went to voicemail. I had _Danny_ try to call, and it did the same. Jackson wouldn’t just turn off his phone for no reason.”

“Wait, why were you calling him in the first place? I’m no expert on break-ups, but—”

“This isn’t about me,” Lydia snapped, her voice holding no room for argument. “Something’s wrong. I can feel it.”

Stiles sat up in bed. “What are you talking about? Lydia, what’s wrong?”

“I want this to be paranoia, I really do. But what if it’s not? I can’t… I’m ready to _scream_ , Stiles. I don’t know if I can live with myself if I just…” She took in a shaky breath. “What if he dies? Really dies? I don’t think I can take going through that again.”

Stiles jumped out of bed and started throwing on the first set of clothes he could find. 

He’d never wanted Jackson to die, not really. He’d wanted to terminate the murderous lizard monster, not the infuriating jerk who got caught up in it. Watching Jackson rise again, finally a proper werewolf, had been like a second chance. He’d blamed his crying on Jackson scratching his Jeep since been easier to feel like he was broken over Lydia still loving the asshole. 

But Jackson was _his_ asshole now. 

“Meet me at his place,” he said as he ran out the front door.

Lydia cleared her throat. “You sure you even need me?”

“Of course I need you, Lydia. You’re still the smartest person I know.”

He didn’t have time to call Scott for back-up as his Jeep protested his speeding and ignoring traffic lights, just barely avoiding the few cars still out at night. He’d rather suffer Jackson’s wrath than risk something horrible happening to him.

The memory of Jackson’s limp body on the warehouse floor flashed before him. He’d spent nearly two-thirds of his life obsessing over Jackson, and the idea of losing him, of him just ceasing to exist, it’d made a mess of Stiles’s heart back before he even _liked_ the guy. 

“God, Jackson,” Stiles muttered under his breath. “You’re so lucky you’re worth it.”

He arrived to find Lydia pacing in front of Jackson’s lit porch, her car parked behind Jackson’s in the driveway.

“I don’t have the key anymore,” she said breathlessly.

“Not a problem.” He rummaged through his jacket and pulled out the key he pocketed the last time he was here. Only a day ago, and it already felt like eternity.

Lydia’s eyes widened. “He gave you—”

“No,” he said quickly, his face burning. “Stop giving me that look. It’s the spare to the backdoor. Can we just do this? We don’t have time to waste.”

Lydia pressed her lips tight and nodded.

It was eerily silent when they got inside. Stiles wondered if Jackson was even home… he wasn’t about to imagine the other possibilities.

They took turns calling out Jackson’s name, but there was no response. 

He hesitated when Lydia went for the stairs. The second floor was uncharted territory for him, but Lydia knew the place like the back of her hand.

They found the door to Jackson’s room wide open. 

And inside…

Stiles’s heart slammed in his chest.

The light from the hallway flooded into a dark room with only a desk lamp illuminating Jackson from behind. Jackson was standing, leaning against his desk on the far side of the room, and even though he faced them, his expression was blank as he held a gun to his temple.

It wasn’t any model Stiles was familiar with, so it had to be contraband from London.

Jackson held it steady in his grasp, not exactly pressing it to his head yet but not likely to miss if he pulled the trigger anyway.

“Jackson,” Lydia quietly said, her voice shaking. “Jackson… please… don’t do this.”

Jackson’s thousand yard gaze didn’t change. “Why do you care? You got everything you ever wanted. Why can’t you just let me have this one thing?”

Lydia turned to Stiles in distress.

“Jacks,” Stiles pleaded as he brought his hands up in a placating gesture. “Talk to me then. Come on, buddy, let’s just talk.”

“I need your pity even less,” Jackson spat, this time raising his head to glare at Stiles. “I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have ever came back. This is the only way I can be stopped.”

Stiles could barely swallow around the lump in his throat. 

It was Scott all over again, back when the darach had been able to bubble up Scott’s deepest insecurities. It got him to convince himself he was helpless, that everyone around him was getting hurt and killed _because_ of him. Because he got bit. Because he should have remained a nobody.

Stiles had joined Scott in that gas puddle without any second thoughts. He wrapped his hand around the lit flare and promised they were doing it together. No matter what happened, if Scott was going down in flames, he’d have to take Stiles with him.

And Scott had trusted him to his core as Stiles eased the flare out of Scott’s grip.

“Jacks, just listen to me… listen to me with your werewolf senses… Okay? It’s not your fault. Yes, you’re mean and hurtful, but you’re not _bad_. And I know bad.”

“We both do,” Lydia said as she blinked away tears.

“I also know what it’s like not having choice,” Stiles went on. “But you still fought against Matt’s control, and then you saved one of your mark’s lives. For Christ’s sake, you held back from ending Peter.”

“No one cares about any of that,” Jackson grit out. “The number of lives I’ve taken… It no longer hurts, Stiles. Killing meant nothing to Matt or Gerard… and now it means nothing to me. I don’t even flinch anymore.” 

Stiles recoiled as Jackson apathetically tapped his temple with the muzzle.

“I’m too good at fucking shit up,” Jackson said. “It’s how I found the worst people to call my master. So how long? How long before I fuck shit up again? All I ever do is fuck shit up… and I can’t afford it. I need to be stopped for good. It’s the only way I’ll _never_ make things worse again.”

“I’m sorry,” Lydia hiccuped. “I never meant… Jackson, I couldn’t have asked for a better boyfriend. I know I only ever complained, but I just assumed… I didn’t think it might actually hurt you.”

Stiles exhaled sharply. This wasn’t the time for him to hold back either. 

“Jacks,” he said. “I know it hurts remembering. Okay? I know the dread of hoping you don’t repeat the bad things you’ve done. The nogitsune made it look so _easy_ , like I was destined to follow in its footsteps…” He tried not to think too hard about Lydia pressing her hands to her mouth and looking at him like she wasn’t sure who she was seeing. “But being good at something doesn’t mean you want it. I’d never hurt or kill someone just because I could. It’s not in me, no matter what the fox would say if it were still around. And if—if that means there’s innocence still inside me… why shouldn’t it be inside of you too?”

Jackson’s expression flickered with shame as he met Stiles’s gaze. “I’m not innocent,” he hissed.

“But you’re more than what they made you do. Did you _ever_ have a choice, a real choice? The kanima needed a master. And London needed its gunners. Did you ever kill someone without being made to do it?”

Jackson’s grip on the gun loosened, his finger no longer flush against the trigger. For once in Stiles’s life, he felt bigger than Jackson, the inch of height he had finally making a difference. 

“Jacks, you finally got me believing I have an entire future ahead of me, one where I can _choose_ to be different from what the demon made of me. So just let me believe in you this time.”

His blood pounded in his ears as Jackson’s silence threatened to make him second guess himself.

“You can’t do this to me,” Jackson finally said, his voice low. “You can’t come into my life and make me believe—”

“That I care about you? That I don’t _want_ you to suffer anymore? I’m done feeding off others’ misery. Okay? Can you hear the truth in my voice? I really do look forward to us being friends.”

Jackson’s eyes narrowed skeptically, and even Lydia did a double-take.

Stiles gulped at the realization he’d just _lied_ about wanting Jackson’s friendship.

“Okay, so the real truth is I’d like to be _more_ than friends,” he admitted before he lost his nerve. “It’s… I can’t explain why. But you’re important to me, Jacks. I want you in my life…”

“Your girlfriend wouldn’t appreciate it.”

Stiles groaned. “Yeah, she kinda decided to go solo. I can’t really blame her.”

“You only _think_ you want me.” A stray tear slid down Jackson’s cheek. Stiles had never seen Jackson this scared and fragile before, not even while Jackson was dying in Lydia’s arms. “Your dick is just pointing you at the one guy you have the closest chance of scoring with.”

“Seriously, you wait til now—” Stiles stopped himself. It wasn’t the time. “Let me remind you that I’ve gone up against werewolves and kanimas and druids. I had a demon wearing me as a meatsuit. All right? I’ve earned the right to say who I want in my life.”

He held his palms up as he took a cautious step toward Jackson. 

“And if I say I want you, Jacks, I damn well mean it. Just listen to my pulse, okay? I want you in my life…” He inched forward with every word. “Do you even get how I don’t make these decisions lightly…”

“I’ll only drag you down. Just give up on me like everyone else has.”

“Have you ever seen me give up on anything, Jacks? Even if we can’t be more than friends… You can’t drag me down if we’re already in hell. All right? We’re in this together…” He reached out his hand. “So if you’re doing this… Jacks, you’re not leaving me behind…”

 

#

 

Jackson couldn’t blink away his tears fast enough.

Stiles’s hand was warm as it touched his, his scent thick with the sweat beading on his brow. 

Stiles eased the gun away from him, wriggling it from his grasp and tossing it across the room.

There was the briefest pause before their eyes met and Stiles wrapped his arms around Jackson, drawing him in to a bear hug. 

Jackson melted into the touch, feeling stupid at how amazing it felt having Stiles pressed against him again. And he was human now, free to tightly wind his arms around Stiles’s waist and dig his nose into the crook of Stiles’s neck. Everything inside him buzzed alive, and he couldn’t hold back the rising sobs in his chest. 

“You’re gonna be okay,” Stiles said gently as he ran his fingers through Jackson’s hair. 

Jackson wanted too much. It was going to consume him. He shook his head, muttering against Stiles’s skin. “I can’t…”

A click rung out in the room.

Stiles’s vitals spiked as he grabbed Jackson and launched them both across the room like a bomb just went off.

They landed clumsily on his bed—Jackson on his side and Stiles sprawled over him before rolling off.

“Sorry,” Lydia said as she got up from her crouch, holding the magazine separate from the gun. “I didn’t want to interrupt you two.”

“Oh thank fuck,” Stiles exclaimed as he sat upright, heart still racing. “God only knows it’s better than last time. Fucking darach.”

“Hopefully there won’t be a next time.”

Jackson vaguely knew the story from Danny who knew it from Lydia. An incident at a motel, with a puddle bursting into flames and Stiles tackling Scott before Lydia threw herself at his back, adding momentum away from the blast. The Lydia that Jackson _thought_ he knew would have never put herself in danger that way.

And if he was being honest with himself, Lydia managed to always be there for him, no matter how much he hurt her.

Lydia’s expression tensed when she caught Jackson watching her. He quickly wiped his wet face on his sleeve, trying to regain enough composure to say something, anything. 

She pulled stray hair behind her ear. “Yeah, so I’m gonna dispose of the weapon,” she said, tilting her chin to the door. “And give you boys your space. You definitely need it.”

“You’re the best,” Stiles replied.

“I know.”

Jackson didn’t bother with words as Stiles and Lydia exchanged nods and Lydia disappeared out the door with the gun, the sounds of her footsteps fading down the stairwell.

He heard her start her car’s ignition when Stiles’s voice brought him back.

“Hey,” he said before patting Jackson’s thigh.

Jackson’s mind swam as he pushed himself up so he could sit next to Stiles on the edge of his bed. “I don’t know what you’re expecting from me now,” he said, gripping the mattress.

“I’m just happy you’re still here.” Stiles punctuated it by bumping shoulders. “You really scared us. If Lydia hadn’t tipped me off…” he left it unspoken.

“Good thing she’s a banshee then.”

“More like it’s Lydia. Deep down, she’ll always care about you.”

Lydia hadn’t lied about being sorry, but Jackson scoffed out of reflex. “Because she loves me. Blah blah. Even if I don’t deserve it.”

“You _do_ deserve it, okay?” Stiles exhaled and shook his head. “God, I’m starting to miss your obnoxious ego. You know, I really did mean all the things I said.”

“Yeah, I know.” Stiles’s heart may have hammered the entire time, but it never skipped the way it did when he tried to claim they could just be friends. Stiles knew every dark part about him, and he _still_ believed there was hope. “That doesn’t mean you won’t change your mind eventually.”

“I’ve _already_ changed my mind about you. I thought I made that crystal clear. You’re trying to be better. That’s all that counts. We can try to be better together.”

Stiles’s hand moved until it was just touching Jackson’s.

Jackson’s wolf ached at the possibility. It wanted to live. Wanted a pack. An anchor. _Stiles_. And Stiles was so determined that it only made the wolf want him more. “We can’t _be_ together.”

“Oh, well, if it’s about _that_ , I’m pretty sure I’m bi too.”

Jackson rolled his eyes before glowering at him. “I’m pan. And you wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me, dumbass.”

He couldn’t bring up any heat in his voice. “Wolves scent to signal territory.”

Stiles snorted. “I’m pretty sure we scented already. Excessively. If Scott was gonna go ballistic, he’d have done so by now.”

“What about everyone else?”

“What, like _Derek_? He can go suck it.” Stiles waved his hand. “You don’t owe him your _chastity_.”

Jackson side-eyed him. “Why do you have to make it gross?”

“That didn’t sound like a denial. Are you really that hung up on the scenting thing?”

“Scenting is serious.”

“How serious? Like accepting a marriage proposal serious?”

Jackson lowered his voice as heat crept up his neck. “I’m no longer in any position to defend what’s mine.”

“Is that so, snotwolf?” Stiles slouched down to be closer to his face. “Does it go both ways? Can I mark you as _my_ territory even though I’m human?”

“ _Obviously_. It’s not—”

Stiles’s lips pressed up against his before he could finish his thought. It was quick—a tease and a question mark. A demand for Jackson to be his… but only if Jackson permitted.

Stiles started inching away when Jackson cupped his face and brought him back, kissing harder this time.


	12. Chapter 12

Stiles’s breath went ragged as he opened his mouth and Jackson’s wet tongue slid across his own. He hadn’t planned this far ahead. Where did his hands go? How did kissing boys work? Who took the lead?

This close to Jackson, he could make out all the tiny freckles adorning Jackson’s skin. He ran his thumb along them, the smooth cheek giving way to stubble, a span of light brown hair that glowed blond under the light. He brushed down the side of Jackson’s neck, and Jackson made a pleased noise, the sound vibrating across their lips. 

Stiles snorted at the idea that the human might like getting scritched as much as the wolf.

Jackson wasn’t as amused as he narrowed his eyes and pushed Stiles down on the mattress.

Stiles yelped, his complaints quickly squashed by Jackson kissing down his jaw and finding a spot behind his ear that made his eyes roll back. That hint of stubble grazed his skin and sent all the right signals south. 

Stiles waited for anxiety to punch him in the face and remind him that he can’t have this. This was around the time that dread was supposed to creep up his spine, overwhelming him with the need to check over his shoulder. But the only thing he felt was the warmth of Jackson on top of him and the wetness of their tongues doing the slip and slide.

It was almost as if he could be a regular teenager again. 

The very thought of it made Stiles dizzy with the lack of blood in his brain.

His entire body was pulsing with nerves as Jackson pressed his thigh between his legs, right up against his crotch, layers of fabric be damned. Stiles Jr had no complaints as he gripped Jackson’s shoulders and rutted up, vividly recalling all the times he’d seen Jackson nude and how he’d never wanted anything to do with Jackson’s dick until now. 

They were alone in a house where Stiles only knew laughter and food and terrible movies. Every memory he had here, even if it started out bad, ended up good in the end.

Including now. 

Jackson snuck his hand between them, bringing his palm down on Stiles’s pants and rubbing over his hard cock. Stiles moaned as his head rolled back from the added pressure and friction. 

Too amazing.

All Jackson had to do was give him a little squeeze, and he was gone, ages of frustration spilling in his pants.

He groaned and covered his face, unable to look at Jackson without the urge to flee. He really didn’t miss being a hormonal wreck.

But Jackson knew exactly how much Stiles struggled with his own body since the possession. It’d taken a great deal of effort for Stiles to trust his own hands to give him pleasure. 

They wouldn’t even be here if it hadn’t been for Jackson’s help. Jackson just got him through more than just the quickest jizz in the history of dry humping.

“You’re welcome,” Jackson said, sounding proud and _endeared_.

“Asshole,” Stiles said, peeking through his fingers to find Jackson beaming down at him with dimples framing the most gorgeous smile Stiles had ever seen. His chest swelled because he’d put that there… at the cost of a giant dark stain on his pants.

 

#

 

Jackson had every right to make fun of Stiles mercilessly for coming in his pants. But he could save it for later. Because right now? He couldn’t stop basking in the smell of a satiated Stiles. It was new and intoxicating, and his wolf was already fixated on burying its nose in it.

Instead Jackson sat back. His wolf wanted—needed—more, but his human side was brought back to how they got here in the first place. 

He had to will himself to get up. He rustled through his dresser until he found a spare set of gym shorts, along with a plain white t-shirt. “I’m assuming you’re staying the night.”

“Hell yeah I am. I’m not leaving you alone for even a second.” Stiles glanced down at himself, mortification returning to his expression. “Okay, just _one_ second while I run to the bathroom.”

“Or you can stay,” Jackson suggested. “I can even help you out.”

Stiles’s pulse tripled as his face turned beet red. “You know, you don’t need to prove anything to me. This bisexual dick of mine, it doesn’t need convincing of your greatness. What matters is that you’re still here and alive.”

The fact that there wasn’t any obligation, that they could stop anytime without Stiles thinking any less of him, only made him want it more. “What if I’m in the mood for a distraction?”

“Well, when you put it like that… I’m not about to say no.” 

Stiles followed it up with a ‘go ahead’ gesture, and Jackson idly unbuttoned Stiles’s jeans before dragging them down and shucking off Stiles’s sneakers in the process. 

Next went the wet Scooby Doo boxers as Jackson dropped the stained underwear to the floor. He only got halfway down Stiles’s thighs before he dropped to his knees and ran his tongue along Stiles’s sticky and salty skin. 

Stiles made a choked sound. “What are you doing?”

“Calculus. Now do you _not_ want me to clean you with my mouth?”

“Oh my god, I hate you. Keep going.”

Stiles wiggled under him as his wolf indulged in the concentrated dose of Stiles’s scent, tugging down the foreskin so he could reach the most potent drops.

He licked until Stiles cock began to fill out again. Then he began bobbing his head on Stiles’s cock, taking in more and more until he could swallow all the way down to the base. It’d taken a lot of practice getting to where he was today, and for once, Stiles’s babbling was a welcome sound, bursts of ‘oh fuck’ and ‘oh my god’ and ‘yes fuck just like that.’

Stiles rested his hands on the back of Jackson’s head. “Just like that.”

Jackson sighed into the touch. It was so easy to forget himself as Stiles’s fingers slid through his hair, holding him firm and steady. His own cock was achingly hard, and he wanted to bottle this feeling up and keep it forever. 

His hand slipped under Stiles’s shirt, and he could spend the whole day just exploring the rises and dips of Stiles’s chest, from the goosebumps and to the moles to the flat nipples with patchy black hair between them. He wanted to taste every inch of Stiles, find the nuances in what made up his scent. 

He couldn’t get enough of Stiles, the feel of him, the taste of him, his everything. Just knowing that he could have this, that he wouldn’t lose this, was enough to get him off without touching himself. It was a good thing he hadn’t berated Stiles for coming fast because he was about to beat that record. He didn’t even try holding it back.

 

#

 

Stiles didn’t know what to make of Jackson’s long moan. “Did you just…”

“Yeah.” Jackson said as he stood up from the floor, revealing a dark spot on his sweatpants exactly where his cock jut out.

A laugh bubbled up out of Stiles. “And here I thought I was bad.”

Jackson scoffed as he threw off his shirt before slipping out of his sweats, revealing a lack of underwear beneath them. Stiles’s mouth dropped, his gaze fixated on the chub Jackson still had. The fact that Stiles really, _really_ wanted to get his mouth on Jackson’s cock when it was hard and leaking precome would have to wait.

Jackson completely naked now, and Stiles suddenly felt entirely overdressed as he scrambled to get his own shirt off. He knew he looked like a potato next to Jackson, but there was no doubt left in his mind about him being a very tasty potato, getting his dick worshipped by his former arch nemesis. 

Jackson gave himself a few loose tugs, and that tiny motion was enough to snap Stiles out of his daze and notice the smug smirk on Jackson’s face.

Stiles licked his lips. “Glad to see you’re back to showing off, asshole. Now get over here.”

Jackson closed the distance between them as Stiles leaned in, licking a stripe up Jackson’s abdomen just because he could. The freckled skin was soft and pliant, giving way when Stiles pressed down on it. When Jackson straddled his lap, Stiles was thrown off for a moment by the soft press of Jackson’s balls, but then Jackson’s dick bumped against his and that’s all that mattered anymore.

If Stiles had never met Jackson before, he’d think Jackson was always this pleasant and cooperative as Stiles kissed him unapologetically. Now that he had no reason not to touch, his hands wandered everywhere. With one hand he flicked the puffy pink nipples and was met with pleased huffs. The other hand wandered down the breadth of Jackson’s back to squeeze his tight ass, causing Jackson to groan against his lips.

The only thing hard about Jackson was his newly stiff cock, and Stiles caressed down Jackson’s flat stomach as he prepared himself to finally touch it. 

Whatever fantasies he’d had about Jackson’s cock didn’t compare to the thick and veiny beast it became when erect, the tip a bright shade of reddish-purple. It was shorter than Stiles’s… but thicker. And the shaft had that silky smoothness that Stiles was used to with his own, firm in his grip in a familiar enough way.

Jackson practically purred as Stiles stroked him slowly, experimentally. If he’d ever told his past self that he’d be _this_ turned on by Supreme Douche Jackson I’m-the-Greatest Whittemore, he’d have called himself high and delusional. 

But Jackson was letting him take his sweet time exploring, stroking him just as slowly in return.

There wasn’t any countdown in the back of his head or any demon waiting to burrow under his skin. The pleasure he got from this was his to keep. No illusions or lies. This wasn’t an intrusion that would eat him up from the inside.

He was safe.

And Jackson was _his_.

 

#

 

Jackson felt a lot better after his second orgasm.

Stiles did too, seeing as he spread out on Jackson’s bed like a satiated cat, smelling of every kind of relief.

Clean up had been quick with the tub of wet wipes Jackson had around, and as he went to put them back, he sighted the plastic bag between his bed and nightstand. He hadn’t been thinking when he bought the DVDs, but now he had a good use for them.

“Pick one,” he said as he poured them out next to Stiles.

Stiles rolled over to inspect the pile of plastic-wrapped DVDs out for him. It took him less than a second to squeal as he started clutching _Cowboys & Aliens_. 

“Do you know what this is?” Stiles exclaimed, holding the case up. “It’s Daniel Craig and Harrison Ford. James Bond versus Indiana Jones. Do you know how long I’ve waited for the disc to get released?”

“I do _now_.”

Jackson was surprised when Stiles jumped up to kiss him, all because of some dumb movie he randomly found. 

It’d never been this simple to please anyone before.

They lay on Jackson’s bed in order to watch the film on the flatscreen on his wall. While he understood they were beyond sitting on opposite sides of the bed, the moment Stiles sidled up next to him, his arm wound around his waist and pressed him to his chest. 

It was so automatic that they both did a double-take. 

“Habit,” Jackson said as he threw his arm up. Stiles wasn’t Lydia, and these were the sort of assumptions that could bring him trouble.

Stiles tilted his head, a curl forming on his lip before he hugged Jackson tight and threw a leg over Jackson’s. “If you insist.”

Jackson smiled and snuggled into it.

The movie itself wasn’t anything great, and not even heckling could save the mediocrity that was _Cowboys & Aliens_ after Stiles had set up his high expectations.

Jackson checked his phone to find a message from Lydia.

>> LYDIA: Text me so I know you’re okay

He’d have to confront her eventually.

>> JACKSON: I’m okay

She replied almost immediately.

>> LYDIA: Are you still with Stiles?

>> JACKSON: Yeah

>> LYDIA: Good.

>> LYDIA: I’m here if you need anything

>> LYDIA: Take care of yourself, Jackson

He wished he could see her in person so he could scent her and remind himself that this thing between them was all real. For now he’d just have to take her word on it.

They ended up swapping _Cowboys & Aliens_ with _2012_. The plot was still stupid, but it was dedicated to being an overblown disaster movie. And the CGI may have been hyper-realistic, but neither of them could take any of it seriously.

Jackson got some good jeers in before a wall of exhaustion hit.

Stiles convinced him to try to get some shut eye, but then Stiles also wanted to be big spoon. It was nice, in theory, but Stiles couldn’t find a comfortable place for his arm, and he wouldn’t stop fidgeting because of it. Jackson ultimately manhandled him so Stiles’s back was to his chest, arm draped over Stiles’s side.

He relaxed after that, but sleep didn’t come. His mind kept running circles through the events that got him here.

In hindsight, the thought of wanting to kill himself was surreal, like a really bad dream. Matt was dead, and Gerard held no power over him anymore. Their thoughts and feelings lingered, but they were trapped in the past. Jackson’s future was entirely his own.

And maybe… maybe he’d be able to stay in Beacon Hills, where he didn’t need to be a killer to survive. 

Derek already absolved himself of Jackson, and Peter was a bridge as burnt as everything else in Peter’s life. It was possible to go back to a normal life… if he didn’t mess shit up again.

“Jackson?” Stiles whispered.

“Hmm?”

“I guess you’re still awake.”

“Do _you_ ever sleep?” Jackson mumbled wryly.

“Shut up. I have insomnia without my pillow.” Stiles voice softened. “But you should sleep, though. You’ve had a long day.”

“Tough luck. I don’t think I could sleep even if I wanted to.”

“Guess I’ll just have to keep you occupied. The whole night. What a burden.”

Jackson was surprised by how much he looked forward to it.

 

#

 

They spent the night playing _Super Street Fighter IV: Arcade Edition_ , channeling their collective restlessness into cartoonish brawls until Jackson finally did pass out.

Stiles couldn’t help smiling at how peaceful the asshole looked.

He spent his free time updating Lydia, who was also wide awake, and trying to reassure his dad, who was half-asleep. Scott seemed to be up as well, so now that everything had calmed down, he filled Scott in on the details, stopping short of admitting what he’d done a bit more than just talk, watch movies, and play video games.

He knew he’d have to go home eventually, but he could have done without waking up to very angry messages from his dad, who was at the end of his patience with a story he didn’t fully believe. And ready to send in a patrol car to pick Stiles up.

“You probably _should_ go,” Jackson said as he drank his coffee and fiddled with his phone.

Stiles glowered. “I’m not leaving you. You’re better off coming with me. Dad won’t question too hard if you sleep over.”

“Lydia’s already offered to change shifts with you,” Jackson said, holding up his phone like Stiles needed proof.

“Is that okay, though? You and her?”

“Well, I’m not about to claim everything is suddenly peachy between us, but I should give her a chance, right? If anything, I can always call your dumb ass and you’ll materialize out of thin air.”

Stiles couldn’t exactly argue with that reasoning. Just based off the texts Lydia had sent _him_ , Lydia was worried sick about Jackson. “Fine, but we’ve already got enough homicides to make a theme park out of Beacon Hills, okay? I can’t control who’ll die next, but if I can have a say in it, I’d really like to keep it to _involuntary_ deaths, you know? So Lydia or not, you better text me at least once every hour or I’ll assume the worst.”

Jackson nodded solemnly. “I promise.”

Stiles sighed. He didn’t actually need to worry about Jackson lying, not when Jackson was a shitty liar. He’d have to just hope for the best, and that wasn’t exactly his strong suit.

He was able to finish his bagel and coffee by the time Lydia arrived, and they lingered by the door as Lydia parked in the driveway. 

He wore a fresh pair of sweatpants with the t-shirt Jackson had loaned him while his dirty clothes were packed into a plastic bag. 

He leaned in to kiss Jackson good-bye when Jackson stopped him.

“Hold on.” Jackson took Stiles’s hand and placed something cold and hard into it. “Here.”

Stiles swore his heart did a somersault when he saw the key. Jackson’s key.

“So next time you bother me, you don’t have to worry about finding the spare,” Jackson said, like this was the most normal thing in the world. “Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“Yeah, no,” Stiles said for lack of words as he clasped the key and brought it up to his chest. He’d have to put back the spare before Jackson realized it was even missing.

Because Jackson was voluntarily trusting him with the front door.

Totally no big deal. Not as though Lydia had been able to use the very same key on the kanima, reminding Jackson of who he was and of what they use to have together. 

Just a regular old key.

Giving him access to Jackson’s inner space.

 

#

 

Jackson knew giving Stiles his key was a big deal, way bigger than just admitting he’d like to booty call Stiles. But he needed to find a new hiding spot for the spare, and Stiles was the type who’d literally climb through a second-story window if he was hellbent on getting inside, broken bones be damned.

Jackson wasn’t about to confess that that level of dedication was a turn on.

He also wasn’t about to risk Stiles hurting himself more than absolutely necessary.

The doorbell rang as their farewell kiss went on and on, neither of them wanting to be the first to break it. It was only when Stiles’s phone started ringing that Stiles stepped back, grumbling down at Lydia’s name flashing on the screen.

Jackson brushed back the mess Stiles made of his hair before letting Lydia inside. Her worried expression shifted to something annoyingly tender as Stiles made a production out of reminding Jackson to text every hour and kissing him one more time like he was afraid it’d be the last time.

Jackson closed the door on Stiles so he’d stop delaying the inevitable. It gave Lydia a chance to finally hug him, and he didn’t begrudge the affection. His sense of smell confirmed exactly what he saw: exhaustion in the bags under her eyes and coiled stress in her unkempt ponytail. She wore a faded cardigan over a plain t-shirt, along with pajama bottoms and worn sneakers. There was no denying that putting up appearances was the last thing on her mind.

Lydia wasn’t trying to remain above it all. 

She was here because she cared about him. 

“I love you,” she said under her breath as light tremors passed through her body.

“I love you too,” he said back, feeling it for the first time in a way that didn’t threaten to take everything away from him.

She put some distance between them and smiled coyly before holding out a plastic bag. “I thought maybe we could watch a movie.”

Jackson scoffed in good humor. “Sure, why not?”

Jackson overheard noise by the backdoor before Stiles’s Jeep started up. He rolled his eyes and looked inside the bag. It took him a second to realize the cover on the DVD case wasn’t _The Notebook_. He blinked as his brain took in the giant basketball and the words _Hoosiers_ and Collector’s Edition.

“Someone once claimed it was the best sports movie ever made,” Lydia said, trying to sound nonchalant even though her chemo signals were full of sadness and regret. “He swore to god that I’d like it. Well, I started thinking better late than never.”

Jackson’s eyes prickled as he did his best to blink away the wetness.

“Better late than never,” he repeated with a nod. “Yeah, come on, I’ll make popcorn.”


	13. Chapter 13

Stiles readied himself for the worst as he parked his Jeep in the garage. He called up Scott, just in case, hoping Scott could come by and act as back up.

He found Dad sitting on the couch, wearing an expression of infinite exasperation that’d been ingrained in him since Stiles was little.

“Mieczysław Stilinski,” his dad said, patting the space next to him. “Come, sit down so we can discuss what you’ve actually been up to for the past, oh, let’s say twelve hours.”

Stiles couldn’t just sit, though. “Jackson had a mental breakdown. I don’t know why that’s so difficult to accept. Remember his _last_ mental breakdown?”

Dad narrowed his eyes. “You telling me he’s not done being a… what was he again? A kanima?”

Stiles thought explaining supernatural stuff had been hard, but he’d had a chess board for that. There wasn’t any chess board for life. And they didn’t have Life, the board game, on hand.

“No, he’s done with that,” Stiles clarified.

“So I’m just supposed to sit here and be fine with the fresh bruises across your neck?”

“What?” Stiles darted to the nearest mirror. Sure enough, all that sucking Jackson did on his neck had bloomed into multiple dark hickeys. He felt himself turn red as he faced his dad in defeat. “Okay, so disclaimer, this wasn’t caused by violence… well, not any _bad_ violence. I couldn’t just leave him alone, okay?”

Dad pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m afraid to ask. Where are his parents again?”

“I told you, they’re in Aspen, like rich people. Jackson was supposed to stay with Lydia, but I told you, they had another falling out. Some other stuff happened too… I thought I made that pretty clear in my texts.”

“What you made _clear_ was you left in the middle of the night for some emergency with a kid you can barely stand—the bane of your existence, if I remember right. And now it’s like he’s the most important thing in the world.”

Stiles felt himself blush. He had no idea what Jackson was to him anymore. But he knew they couldn’t go back to the way things were before, with the cold distance and the dodging. Not if Stiles had a say in it.

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt if his dad knew. 

He paced the room as the words started coming out. “You’re a progressive dad, you know how teenagers are. Hormones flying everywhere. One thing leading to another. Remember how you said I can’t possibly be gay? Well, I’m not gay.” He took in a gulp of air. “But I’m not straight, either. I kind of only figured it out recently, but, I think I may be into more than one gender. So, this thing between me and Jackson…” He didn’t have an answer for that specifically. “I’m bisexual, Dad. I’m a hundred percent sure I’m a hundred percent bisexual.”

He dropped down to the couch once he was done, time standing still as he waited for his dad’s reaction.

Dad let out a heavy breath as his scrubbed his hand over face. “Okay.”

“Okay? Aren’t you going to argue?”

“Son, if you really feel that’s what you are, I’m not going to tell you that you’re not.”

“But at the Jungle, you said…”

“The Jungle? Stiles, you weren’t dressed like you were planning on impressing _anyone_ , let alone a guy. If that was really the day you planned on coming out, you’d have _come out_. I mean, just look at you. You had to ask for a change of clothes because you wore your _Christmas outfit_ to go see Jackson.”

Stiles glanced down at the plastic bag. He hadn’t really been thinking when he changed out of his pajamas to go confront Jackson. “This doesn’t count. It was the freshest thing in the laundry pile…” He paused as he suddenly remembered the unsanitary state of said clothes. “Or it _used to be_ the freshest thing in the laundry pile. Which isn’t the point.”

Dad groaned as he put on his ‘I don’t even want to know’ face. “Whatever the case may be, I’m not about to stop you from dressing how you like—or dating who you like. I’m sorry I ever made you doubt that, kiddo. I’ll love you no matter what.”

“Even if it’s Jackson Douchebag Whittemore?”

“I don’t get it, but as long as there’s not going to be anymore restraining orders…”

“No. There won’t be.”

“Does this mean—”

The doorbell rang just in time to stop whatever new question Dad was going to ask. Stiles rushed to get it, corralling Scott past the living room door and up the stairs. 

Dad just tsked and turned on the TV, appeased for the time being.

“Are you okay?” Scott asked. 

Stiles self-consciously rubbed his neck. “Apart from some excessive bruising and lack of sleep? Yeah?” 

“Did Jackson really try to kill himself?” Scott asked as he took off his faded red hoodie and sat on Stiles’s computer chair. 

Stiles rested on the edge of his bed, eying his much cleaner pajamas with envy. “Yeah, but he’s stable now. At least I hope Lydia’s making sure of it. He said he’d call if something came up.”

He took that moment to check his phone. No phone calls, but Jackson left a text. With an image. Stiles fumbled with his phone when he saw exactly what that image was of.

A dick pic.

Jackson’s dick.

From Jackson’s bathroom.

“He’s fine,” he exclaimed as he threw his phone across the bed. “Doing better already.”

“Okay…” Scott furrowed his brows, his nostrils flaring. “Those are clean clothes he gave you?”

Stiles suddenly desperately needed a shower. “Why?” 

“It smells like he’s _marked_ you.”

That was less horrible than he expected. “I marked _him_. Hierarchy. And we didn’t even do that much. Just kissing… and okay, some other stuff.”

“Wait, hold on.” Scott sat back in his chair. “Since when have you even liked him that way?”

“I don’t even know, Scott. Can we just collectively bask in the fact that this isn’t one-sided for once? I mean, sure, the circumstances were bad, but Jackson and I made it through okay. No one’s died. That’s an A-plus in my book.”

Scott nodded in reluctant agreement. “Yeah, uh, when you told me about Jackson, it got me thinking about Isaac and how I didn’t know what became of him. So I… I got in contact with him,” his voice dropped to an embarrassed whisper. “He answered my texts in minutes. Was just getting up for breakfast when I asked how he was doing. Chris found a pack for him in France. They’ve accepted him as beta, no strings attached. But I wish…” Scott paused and shook his head. “Nothing, it doesn’t matter. Point is he’s alive and safe. I know that for a fact now.” 

“Alive and safe is the way to go, yes.”

“I get that Jackson doesn’t want to join my pack, but just know I’ll never turn him away. Okay?”

“Thanks,” Stiles said, and he meant it. “To be honest, I don’t know what’s going on with Jackson. At first I thought he blocked me and I’d have to give an entire speech ready about him running from his problems. Now we’re…” He shrugged. “I really hope this means he’ll get his head out of his ass, but who knows? He’s technically still got Peter to deal with, not to mention the whole thing with being a murderer— _former_ murderer—himself. But he claims no one’s going to come after him. Except with the luck we’ve been having…” 

He didn’t bother finishing the thought. 

He used to believe the fourth grade was a cursed year and nothing could ever top it. It’d been the year of his mom’s slow death and Scott’s dad suddenly leaving, followed by his only other friend, Theo Raeken, disappearing from Beacon Hills, never to be heard from again. Exactly the same year as Isaac’s mom dying of mysterious causes and the Hale massacre topping everything off. 

That year was full of so much loss that it didn’t feel possible to lose even more.

But now, in the span of a year, everything had become tainted by death and loss again. This time with otherworldly creatures and mind control and possessions. 

The darkness would always remain in their hearts, but they’d made it through some fucked up shit already. And that was an achievement in itself. It made him want to see a speck of good in all of it.

“Jackson gave me his key,” he said.

“What?” Scott nearly popped out of his seat. “You serious?”

“Yup.” Stiles dug it out from his dirty pants pocket just to look at it again.

“And you’re okay with this? I mean, this is all new to me, so… Is this just a _physical_ thing between you or is it… I dunno? Bigger?”

Stiles hadn’t thought that far ahead. He was too afraid to do it. Happiness had a short life-span in Beacon Hills. Allison had been proof of that.

So maybe he’d never be whole again, but if there was one thing the fox hadn’t changed, it was his impulse to run into danger regardless of whether he was actually equipped to handle it. “I’m ready to see how far I can take this.”

 

#

 

Jackson was impressed it took Stiles as long as it did to respond to the series of dick pics. 

Stiles’s reply was to photograph himself with his hand on his spent cock and his stomach covered in come, followed by the message, “Better than any fantasy material.”

It had Jackson running to the bathroom again, his only reprieve from Lydia’s constant presence.

She kept acting like he’d snap the second she took her eyes off him, and that was the most aggravating part. He couldn’t even crack a joke about preferring to stab himself with a fork than have her sleep over. She’d taken him seriously, and next thing he knew, she was insisting she couldn’t sleep in the guest room and they’d have to share his bed because neither of them were sleeping on the floor and he didn’t have a blowup mattress to spare.

He didn’t know _how_ Stiles got his dad’s permission to come back that night, but based on Stiles’s steady pulse, it had to be one hell of a good persuasion. It was also about the only ‘calm’ thing about Stiles because the dumbass forgot to bring his pillow.

“I don’t need to be watched anymore,” he complained once he and Stiles were alone again.

The TV was still running the _Desperate Housewives_ , which Lydia couldn’t get enough of and somehow managed to hook Jackson as well.

Stiles plopped down on the sofa, ensnared by the drama on screen. “You want me to leave that badly?”

Jackson groaned as he sat back down. “No.”

“Then shut up and let me watch Bree do her thing.”

They watched for another hour before Jackson offered a shower. He knew _he_ needed one after not getting a chance all day, and he was beyond having problems with _Stiles_ crowding his space.

Stiles immediately fixated on fiddling with the adjustable jets and multiple shower heads, right up until Jackson started soaping himself up. That was when Stiles fixated on helping lather him up with his own vanilla and lavender body wash. 

Stiles’s fingers were as nimble as ever, trailing along Jackson’s chest and abs. “Are these mine?” he asked, poking up the bruises speckling Jackson’s shoulders and neck.

“Well, they’re not Lydia’s.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes, but his attention went back to the skin. “But you can heal fast now,” his voice took on a worried edge. “Why aren’t you healing?”

Jackson felt himself flush as he looked away. “Werewolf healing is psychosomatic.”

“It’s what now?”

“It means I have to want it,” Jackson hissed to hide just how much his wolf had been basking in being marked. He’d never seen Stiles go so silently still, and it unnerved him. “I can heal if you—”

“Don’t.”

Stiles grabbed him by the back of the head and mashed their mouths together. Stiles’s fingers found their way in hair again, massaging his scalp and drawing out little sighs that wouldn’t have been possible in Jackson’s wolf form. Stiles must have noticed because he started petting him more eagerly, and Jackson moaned into it as Stiles’s other hand went back to exploring, working down Jackson’s shoulder to his ribs and eventually skimming his hip bones before settling on his cock.

Jackson wasn’t about to refuse a hand job. They were just outside the main spray of water, only a soft mist coating their skin. Just a bit of soap, and he’d be good to go.

But then a devious expression crossed Stiles’s face as he dropped to his knees, taking Jackson’s cock in his mouth.

The moment was short-lived as Stiles’s enthusiasm turned into him swallowing down the entirety of Jackson’s length and violently activating his gag reflex.

“The fuck are you doing?” Jackson yelled as Stiles went into a hacking fit. “Trying to win a Darwin Award?”

“It looked easy when you did it,” Stiles croaked once he regained his composure.

“That’s cause it wasn’t my first time sucking dick, dumbass.”

“Well, since you’re such an expert cocksucker, tell me what to do.”

Jackson closed his eyes and exhaled. He had no words for Stiles’s ability to both infuriate and turn him on. “Just take it slow. My expectations are very low right now.”

Stiles scoffed. “Way to morale boost there, buddy.”

But Stiles listened as Jackson guided him on what felt good. He concentrated on the head of Jackson’s cock, tongue and lips working the tip as his hand pumped the shaft. Jackson leaned on the tiles as he licked his lips and let his world narrow down to just here, just Stiles.

He barely noticed Stiles’s hand creeping behind his balls until Stiles’s finger was pressing into him. Jackson’s back hit the wall as it set off something in him, and he came so fast he didn’t have time to give a warning.

Stiles’s attempt to swallow ended with most of it getting on his face. Jackson had half a mind to apologize as Stiles frantically wiped at his face, but then Stiles rose to his feet and held out his come-stained hand to Jackson, who cleaned it with his tongue before they got back to the body wash.

They properly showered before drying off and landed on Jackson’s bed in their towels.

Their attempt at watching _Armageddon_ ended in a make-out session full of enough groping to make them both hard again. 

Jackson went right to returning the favor, loving the feel of Stiles’s cock back in his mouth. He hadn’t expected Stiles to touch him the way he did in the shower. He wasn’t even sure why he expected Stiles to be more reserved about being with another guy. But that only made Jackson’s life easier.

He got a good rhythm going when Stiles tapped his head.

“About to come?”

“Yeah… no…” Stiles panted. “Can you… your finger too… I want… since you’re already down there…”

Jackson was relieved that Stiles’s inexperience wasn’t going to get in the way of him asking for what he wanted. Jackson hated doing guesswork because it meant he could be wrong.

“Yeah,” he said as he got up and went for his bedside table. “May as well get something for it.”

He turned away from Stiles for _two seconds_ and Stiles was already taking the opportunity rest his head on Jackson’s pillow and planting his feet on the comforter, spreading his thighs wide.

Jackson was never getting the image out of his head. He didn’t even want to.

His wolf practically jumped out of him as he held himself back from pouncing Stiles and taking him raw. 

“You fucking serious?” he barked.

Stiles wagged his eyebrows. “Gotta get comfy.” His gaze drifted to Jackson holding lube and a condom. “Dude, really?”

“I’m not taking any chances with you.”

“Do we actually _need_ it, though?”

Jackson thumbed the condom in annoyance. “You were expecting me to go bareback?”

Stiles stared at him in disbelief. “What’s the problem with bareback? I already said I don’t mind smelling like you.”

Jackson rolled his eyes. “Believe me, we’ve gone way beyond that. But _some_ guys give a shit about shit on their dick.”

“Oh,” Stiles said, chewing his lip. “I guess that _is_ a good reason… for people who haven’t been failed worse by condoms before.”

“God, I’m gonna make you come so hard you forget about all that.”

“Is that a promise?” Stiles asked expectantly.

Jackson sneered before swooping back down between Stiles’s thighs. He took Stiles in his mouth again. The things he wanted to do to him… 

He brought Stiles to a frenzy before he slicked up his finger and went for Stiles’s hole. He would back away the moment Stiles seized up and his scent curdled. But Stiles only exhaled slowly as Jackson touched him. 

“It’s okay,” Stiles said, no lies hidden in his pulse this time. “You’re mine, Jacks. All mine.”

Jackson’s chest swelled at the acknowledgment. People kept trying to own him against his will, through force or manipulation. He always lost a part of himself in the process. But this didn’t hurt the same way. Giving in to Stiles wasn’t a loss.

He felt too full, too warm inside, for it to be a loss.

It felt more like being grounded. That was what an anchor was for, wasn’t it?

He nudged his finger past the rim of muscles, Stiles’s walls clamping tight around him. Stiles mewled, gripping the edges of Jackson’s pillow as he spread his legs wider. Jackson sucked on the tip of Stiles’s cock as he pumped his finger, working through the resistance until he was up to the second knuckle. Stiles loosened up enough for him to crook his finger, stroking Stiles’s prostate.

Stiles arched his back and emitted a high-pitched moan. “Do that again.”

He fitted in another finger before fucking Stiles nice and slow, skimming Stiles’s prostate and causing Stiles to let out one strangled cry after another. 

When Stiles arched his back and dug his fingers into Jackson’s hair, Jackson was ready.

But Stiles yanked him away, causing him to pop off Stiles’s cock with a loud slurp and a line of saliva connecting his lips to Stiles’s skin. 

“What?” he rasped impatiently. Stiles didn’t smell like he was in distress.

“I want to come with you inside me.”

“I _am_ inside you.” He wriggled his fingers for emphasis.

“Your cock, Jacks. Don’t make me ask twice.”

Jackson huffed at Stiles’s honesty, his brashness, his everything. 

He didn’t need to be told twice.

 

#

 

Stiles was lucky he’d been able to stop before he let loose into Jackson’s mouth. He knew fingers felt good, but he’d never been able to get them in there like _that_.

He was thankful for the condom. Jackson putting it on gave him a precious few seconds to cool down.

Jackson hooked Stiles’s right leg over his left arm and used his right hand to guide his cock to Stiles’s hole. Stiles raised up his hips by wrapping his left leg around Jackson’s torso and clutching his shoulders.

He felt the wetness from the added lube before the press of Jackson’s cock. He winced as it pushed through, the burn from the stretch more uncomfortable than fingers alone. And the more Jackson pushed in, the weirder it felt to squeeze around something this big and this hard prying him apart.

He must have made unhappy noises because Jackson frowned.

“Just give me a minute,” Stiles explained. “I’ll be taking cocks like a pro in no time.”

Jackson only raised an eyebrow as he bent forward, taking Stiles’s leg with him. Stiles dropped his left leg, causing him to tilt to side, which had to be Jackson’s intent as Jackson propped himself on his right elbow and leaned in to kiss him.

Lips and tongue, there to be licked and sucked and nipped.

Stiles’s hand curled around the back of Jackson’s head, keeping their lips locked as Jackson’s left hand dropped to his asscheek, holding Stiles firmly as he began to rock his hips.

Stiles had no idea when the icky discomfort morphed into toe-curling pleasure, but there it was. 

He hummed against Jackson’s lips, his nerves tingling from the slow grind. “I’m good now.”

Jackson took the cue and picked up his pace, the friction bringing with it a heat that pooled at the base of Stiles’s cock and balls. Stiles held onto Jackson’s shoulders, guttural shrill rising from his chest as Jackson’s thrusts turned eager. Their angle shifted, and Jackson’s cock rubbed up against a very familiar spot.

“Fuck,” Stiles yowled. “Jesus, fuck, that’s so—fuck!”

Jackson’s eyes flashed blue and his chest rumbled, low and predatory. Stiles bared his throat to display he was all for what he hoped would come next. Jackson’s mouth latched onto his neck, sucking on the skin hard, and Stiles tried to make words, but it came out as a gargled mess of sounds as he dug his nails into Jackson’s shoulder.

He didn’t want this to stop. Except he wasn’t going to last either. His balls were drawn up, and his gut swirled with the best feeling in the world as Jackson slammed into him harder, wringing the air from his lungs. 

He pried one hand off Jackson and dropped it to his leaking dick.

Barely a few tugs on the head, and he was shouting as his abs tightened and a streak of come coated his hand and stomach.

Jackson raised his head, his thrusts losing their rhythm as his cock continued to move in and out of Stiles even as Stiles pressed down on it, his nerves on fire. 

It was all on the verge of being too much when Jackson seized up and released a long, drawn-out cry that Stiles was never going to forget.

The stillness that followed was full of labored breathing and dripping sweat. Jackson licked Stiles’s neck and pulled out, the loss of heat and pressure sending a full-body shiver through Stiles.

He became too aware of the lack of Jackson’s presence. But Jackson had only gone to dispose his condom and get a box of tissues, coming right back to help Stiles clean up his own gunk.

Jackson slid into the damp bed, and Stiles didn’t even protest as Jackson drew him in closer, Stiles’s back flush to Jackson’s chest. Stiles settled into the warm embrace, wrapping his arm over Jackson’s and making room for Jackson’s knee to rest between his legs. Jackson brushed kisses along the nape of his neck and back of his shoulder, and Stiles liked this too much to fuss about being the little spoon. 

They lay like that for what felt like decades. Nothing but hearts pounding and heavy breathing. 

Then Stiles’s brain cranked back into gear. “Wow,” he said in nearly a whisper. “That was… wow. I always wanted to believe you’re awful at sex and Lydia doesn’t deserve you, and now I feel horrible because you’re an absolute _gentleman_ in bed.”

Jackson groaned. “You’re a moron.”

“So it’s got me thinking. You’re too pretty to have had _no one_ in London, even with all the stupid politics. Which would make me wonder who it was, but Dominic’s the only Brit besides Anita you’ve ever talked fondly of.” Stiles twisted in Jackson’s grip so he could better look into his face. “He wasn’t just your nanny, was he?”

Jackson tried to shrug it off. “It helped. During full moons.”

“Talk about releasing the beast,” Stiles quipped before realizing the implication. “Is that what kept you anchored?”

“I had nothing else.”

“We’re gonna have to work on that. In the meantime, we need an encore because you can’t blow my mind and not expect me to ask for everything on the menu. I need to know what this feels like in other positions. For every occasion. Over many many days. It’s been decreed.”

 

#

 

Jackson introduced Stiles to his comic book collection to distract him from his false growing pride in being ‘as good as a porn star.’

They sat naked on the bed as Stiles thumbed through the issues while Jackson explained the stories.

“Okay, so is Dick Grayson just the guy version of tits and ass?” Stiles asked. “Because I can see why you and Danny got into this, you know, besides the superhero stuff.”

Jackson gave him a tired look. “Nothing gets past you.”

Stiles bit his lip before looking up at Jackson. “You once said I could be like Nightwing someday. Does that mean I could turn sexy in the future too?”

“You’re more like marmite.”

“Ew.” Stiles stuck his tongue out. “I hate you.”

Jackson snorted as he began repackaging the comics back into their plastic sleeves. “Some people are into marmite.”

“You _did_ enjoy that nasty stuff last time we had it.” Stiles tilted his head. “Wait. Was that you giving me a compliment? Have I died and gone into an alternate realm where Jackson Whittemore _likes_ me.”

“Maybe _I_ was the one who died and got sent to some strange dimension where Stiles Stilinski is _likeable_.”

He waited for Stiles’s scent to sour and his mood to lose its playfulness.

They stared each other down until Stiles finally cracked with a short laugh. “Well, at least we both exist in a world where you can actually do something about it, huh?”

Jackson smirked as the tension left his body. 

They finished putting away the comics when Stiles looked at him with a new hunger in his eyes. Jackson waited for him to blab whatever it was, but Stiles kept it tight-lipped while sitting on the edge of the bed absently going over the DVDs.

“Just say whatever it is you want to say?” Jackson demanded as he lay down.

“Nothing.” Stiles paused, his pulse spiking. “Okay, something… I’ve just been thinking, you know, about our shower and how much you got into it. I barely even touched you, and now I actually know how good it can feel. Now I can’t stop thinking about what it’d be like to bury my dick in you and turn you into a mess myself.”

Jackson felt his dick perk up. “So what’s stopping you?”

Stiles shrugged in a noncommittal way in spite of everything from his scent to his posture was anything but indifferent. “What if I’m not up to your standard?”

“My standard? My standard was Dominic, and I had barely any control of my impulses. Believe me, even if the full moon was tonight instead of two weeks from now, I’d still have an easier time with you.”

“So… you don’t like wolfing out?”

“My wolf just doesn’t know anything else.” His voice faltered. “I don’t _not_ like it. I just never really had other options before.”

“Well, now you’re just giving me ideas.” Stiles grabbed the lube from the nightstand, and nothing but the lube.

“Stiles,” Jackson said cautiously.

“It’s nothing another shower can’t fix. Not like it’d make a big difference for _you_ , snotwolf.”

Jackson bit back a reply just as Stiles rolled him stomach down onto the mattress, one hand flat on his back, the other clicking open the lube and drizzling it down his crack. 

He could have fought back, but neither he nor his wolf wanted to. 

He bit into his pillow to drown out his moan when Stiles’s fingers pressed into him, getting right to it.

“This is a really good look on you, Jacks,” Stiles said, fingering him quick and rough, figuring out in no time how to set Jackson off. 

Jackson grunted and writhed, fisting the pillow as he bucked against the mattress.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Stiles crooned, switching out his hand for his cock. “Take it like a champ.”

Jackson let out a strangled cry as Stiles bottomed out. 

He reached down to touch himself when Stiles grabbed both his wrists and pinned them on either side of Jackson’s shoulders. Jackson had the chance to break loose, but he wanted this. He arched his back as Stiles skimmed his prostate, shamelessly bellowing “god yes” with each thrust.

“How’s this for wolfing out,” Stiles grunted. He slammed in faster, losing all coordination until finally his teeth dug into the meaty part between neck and shoulder. 

Jackson lost it as the shot of pain went straight down to where the heat had built up in his pelvis. He shouted as the release rushed through him, losing all sense of time and place.

Moments or hours later, Stiles rolled off him, breathing hard and glistening with sweat. Jackson’s body moved before his mind could catch up, gathering Stiles in his arms, his nose buried in Stiles’s grounding scent.

“Not all your ideas are dumb,” he mumbled.

Stiles only made a contented noise in response.

They were filthy and needed to clean, but Jackson didn’t want to move. He half-expected Stiles to eventually start squirming in boredom and prod him if he’s still awake, but the calm, even breathing continued until Jackson fell asleep.

Jackson woke up to daylight, finding that Stiles was out cold, his face plastered to the pillow, hair sticking out at odd angles and lips parted over a drool stain Jackson would probably care about later, if ever. 

He didn’t want to move, but he badly needed a shower. The crusty stuff between his ass cheeks and thighs didn’t help. 

He reluctantly slipped out of bed without stirring Stiles. His wolf was satiated to the bone, giddy from way Stiles’s scent clung to him yet unable to make a fuss about washing it off. The memory of the things Stiles did to him in there replayed in his mind. Knowing Stiles, it wouldn’t be long before he’d be covered in fresh scent.

When he was done, he grabbed a tank-top, gym shorts, and his phone.

With a moment to breathe without supervision, he called Danny to confess everything leading up to that morning as he made his way down to the kitchen. He was starving and, after all the nights he’d spent with Lydia, had no trouble going on auto-pilot to make two portions of food. For once there wasn’t any obligation, and it brought with it a buoyant feeling as fragile as the eggs he cracked into the pan.

“You’ve got this,” Danny said, sounding unruffled. Jackson knew better than to believe it. “And this time you’ve got Stiles.”

“Yeah, well, he comes with a condition.”

“Dude, what’s wrong with joining Scott’s pack?”

“It’s not a pack,” Jackson insisted for what must have felt like the billionth time. “It’s a bunch of teenagers in a clique.”

“Teenagers who’ve handled every evil plague that’s been thrown at them.”

“It’s just so fucking temporary. There’s no center, no foundation. It’s not like Scott’s staying after he graduates.” Then he’d have to find a new pack. He’d be back to square one. “I’m tired of being omega.”

“You’re thinking too long-term, man. There’s a year and a half left in school, and your best chance of survival is as a beta—even if it’s to a pack whose future is uncertain. The safest place in a hurricane is its eye, and the McCall pack is the closest thing to an eye you’ll get. Besides,” Danny added with amusement, “Stiles would appreciate the gesture of goodwill.”

Jackson groaned and rubbed his temples. Danny was right. He tended to always be right. Jackson just usually preferred not to listen.

Stiles’s loyalty was a double-edged sword. If he was to ever get truly close to Stiles, it meant _trying_ to be good with McCall. 

Somehow that no longer felt like the end of the world.

 

#

 

Stiles groaned as he slid out of the empty bed, beckoned by the smell of bacon and coffee. He didn’t know there were this many muscles in his body that could ache at once, but if this was the price for the best sex of his life, he would gladly pay it again. 

He was dismayed to find his boxers were still, in fact, stained. 

He didn’t have enough brain cells to go searching for clean replacements, so he swiped Jackson’s boxer-briefs, making a detour to the bathroom before throwing them on.

His knees wobbled on the way down the stairs, and he paused at the sound of Jackson on the phone. But then he noticed the two plates, topped high with scrambled eggs and bacon, sitting beside coffee, toasted bagels, and leftover spreads. His stomach growled loud enough for the neighbors to hear. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Jackson dismissed whoever was on the other end of the line. “You’ll have all the time in the world to rub it in later. The Energizer Bunny is up and running again.” He exchanged alohas before hanging up and bringing his attention to Stiles. “If you’d waited, I’d have brought you breakfast in bed.”

“You kidding? I smelled it all the way in my dreams.”

Jackson snorted. “Guess we found _one_ remedy for your insomnia.”

Stiles groused as he scrubbed a hand through his matted hair. “God, I hate you so much. Why do you have to be so perfect? I would literally fuck you day and night if my body could take it.”

“You didn’t have a problem with it last night.”

He padded over to Jackson and threw his arms around his neck. Jackson’s hair was wonderfully fluffy without all the gel in it.

“Still as asshole,” he said under his breath, kissing the bite and scratch marks he’d left behind, the ones Jackson didn’t want to heal just yet. It made him wonder how much Jackson had been kidding when he’d once told Stiles and Scott how Lydia left claw marks on his back when they slept together. Jackson probably had even _liked_ it.

Jackson hugged Stiles around the waist, and all the discomfort in Stiles’s body faded with the black veins running up Jackson’s arms.

“You didn’t have to,” Stiles said, sighing a little too loudly with relaxed pleasure. It only managed to make him horny all over again. “Now I want to fuck you again.”

Jackson’s face turned pink, and Stiles couldn’t get over this new ability to fluster the supreme asshole.

“Does that mean you _don’t_ want the breakfast I’ve made?” Jackson teased.

Stiles’s stomach answered for him. “Fine, food first, fuck later.”

They sat at the dining table as Stiles stuffed his face like he had a black hole inside him, except it no longer felt like the hole would consume the rest of him too. 

His phone buzzed, and he whined through his mouth full of bacon. It was Scott checking up on them and saying he’ll be there in half an hour to change shifts.

“So I have good news and bad news.”

Jackson sighed. “Coming from you, it’s probably just bad and worse.”

“The good news,” Stiles persisted, “is we have time for a ‘shower’ before Scott shows. The bad news is you’re technically still on suicide watch.”

 

#

 

Jackson just accepted that he’d have to deal with Scott’s hovering. It couldn’t possibly be worse than Lydia’s.

They went from playing _Marvel vs. Capcom 3_ to getting drunk and fucking around in _Guitar Hero_ , their scores more or less tied. Inevitably, Jackson’s experience got trampled by Scott’s new reflexes and ability to adapt. Jackson wasn’t ever going to admit he had any fun, though.

Scott slept in the guest room that night, but he’d be able to hear immediately if something were off about Jackson.

The morning after that, Jackson was faced with Kira and Malia.

Malia didn’t like him, which he was fine with. He wasn’t about to have feelings for a sister he’d only just met. He also wasn’t going to tolerate her walking around in filthy boots and eating with her mouth open. Just because she was newly human and Stiles’s ex didn’t mean she could have free reign. 

Kira at least tried to understand Jackson’s house rules. She was excited to get to know him, especially now that he and Stiles were _something_ , and she kept asking questions and then immediately back peddling, constantly afraid that she was prying too much. 

Eventually they settled on talking lacrosse and how Jackson managed to go from freshman MVP to sophomore captain without any superpowers, before a certain juiced-up somebody upstaged him. Malia thought he was dumb for caring so much about something as meaningless and non-life-threatening as sports, but Kira was in awe of him, and he missed that. 

He hadn’t been able to give Allison a real chance at friendship, but this felt like a second chance. Kira wasn’t a stepping stone to get ahead of McCall. He didn’t need lies or manipulation to get close with her. 

The three of them were eating Chinese food and taking a break from playing _Super Smash Bros. Brawl_ when Stiles’s new set of texts came in.

>> STILES: Tomorrow is finally my turn to watch

>> JACKSON: I’ve been wondering when you’d show your face again

>> STILES: Not sure how much of my face you’ll be seeing with what I have planned for you

Jackson snorted. That’d explain Stiles’s ‘patience.’

>> STILES: Also, you’re invited to New Year’s Eve dinner Saturday night

>> STILES: Not optional

>> JACKSON: Then it’s not an invitation, asswipe

>> STILES: Well, Melissa keeps calling you my boyfriend, so it’s kind of expected

>> STILES: Which reminds me…

>> STILES: Are we boyfriends now?

>> JACKSON: I thought that’d been established

>> STILES: SINCE WHEN? 

>> STILES: I never got this memo!

>> JACKSON: I warned you about the scent marking

>> STILES: You said it’s not werewolf marriage!!!!

>> JACKSON: I said it’s marking territory, i.e. mating

>> STILES: MATING???

>> JACKSON: Calm your shit, it’s the werewolf equivalent of dating

>> STILES: YOU SHOULD HAVE JUST SAID THAT

>> JACKSON: Would that have stopped you?

>> STILES: No

>> STILES: Tho… I’m not the one with a reputation to lose

>> STILES: Your Beacon Hills reputation

>> STILES: I’m not touching your London reputation with a fifty foot pole

>> JACKSON: Reputation is a little overrated in a town overrun by serial killers and mountain lions, don’t you think?

>> STILES: Don’t get me started

>> STILES: So, omg, we’re dating

>> STILES: You’re my boyfriend

>> JACKSON: 9_9 

>> JACKSON: As though it changes anything

>> STILES: It’s totally different! You get a boyfriend blowjob special!!!

>> JACKSON: How is that any different from a regular blowjob?

>> STILES: I don’t know. 

>> STILES: I’ll make something up

>> JACKSON: I regret asking

>> STILES: Oh shut up you’ll love it

>> JACKSON: Yeah I will

>> STILES: Love the optimism, hate the ego

 

#

 

The 2012 New Year came and went without any sign of the apocalypse. 

No zombies. Not even a rise in unexplained murders… as far as the official reports were concerned. The town returned to its peaceful and quiet nature, holding its secrets to its chest. 

Stiles wasn’t sure what new horrors lurked in the shadows, but in the meantime, things were as normal as they could be—with a few changes. 

He liked the sharp turn in his sex life, and he had no problems with his phone no longer being safe in adult hands. The biggest hurdle was when school started up again and Jackson’s parents were back in town.

The official meeting of the Stilinski and Whittemore households had gone far smoother than expected considering the clashes Stiles and Jackson used to have, not to mention the clashes Dad had had with Jackson on account of Isaac and Lydia. 

But apparently David was a fan of the same football team as Dad, and they managed to share their love of sports over a glass of bourbon. That gave Stiles a chance to learn more about Grace now that he wasn’t thrown into the fray. She’d majored in criminology before she became a lawyer, and she had the best stories to tell when Stiles expressed interest in entering that field himself.

After dinner, once Stiles was alone with Jackson, he got hit with a brilliant idea. 

“We should be cops together.”

Jackson had eyed him, partially in annoyance and partially in interest due to Stiles’s shirtlessness and soon-to-be pantslessness. “The last thing I want is to be stuck working for your dad in this dinky town.”

Stiles wagged an eyebrow. “I don’t want to work for my dad either, he already knows all my tricks.”

Jackson scoffed but didn’t outright reject the idea.

They still had plenty of time to consider their options. The SATs were coming up, and only after that did they need to worry about picking colleges. Assuming they survived long enough to even get into college.

That was days ago.

For now, Stiles leaned against his Jeep with his hand in his coat pocket, palming Jackson’s key. The full moon was out again, and this time Jackson wasn’t chained to any tree. 

Stiles breathed in the crisp winter air as a white wolf dashed in the distance, zig-zagging around trees, appearing and disappearing from sight. Jackson assured him he wouldn’t kill or maim anything while he burned off excess energy, especially of the elusive Hale shaped variety. But as Stiles caught glimpses of the wolf, it didn’t look like exercise as much as euphoria. 

Jackson finally had a home in Scott’s pack.

Stiles had a mutual understanding with the snotwolf, an unspoken bond. He was privileged with access to Jackson’s soft inner core, something that’d previously been walled off with spikes and venom and outrage. And in return, he got Jackson’s protectiveness, a gesture he used to read as simply posturing, but which Lydia confirmed was one of the good things about him when he wasn’t stuck up his own ass.

Fortunately for Jackson, Stiles had plenty of other things to fill Jackson’s ass with. 

But it was their first full moon _together_ , and they’d agreed to play it safe. Jackson wasn’t sure how well he’d be able to reign in his feral sex drive after so many months of tumbling with Dominic to see who’d come out on top. Stiles was totally on board with stretching and lubing himself up before driving them out here. 

He was getting rawed tonight.

And it was going to be amazing.

Eventually the wolf burst through the bushes, white fur tangled in dirt and twigs. 

“There you are, snotwolf,” Stiles cooed, extending his hand. Jackson made a show of huffing before approaching close enough for Stiles to pet his mane. Stiles could bury himself in that fur, but he also had plans for the human. “No more chains,” Stiles said with a grin. “How does it feel, Jacks?”

Jackson shook off the debris before beginning his shift, bones cracking and hair receding. The transformation never failed to send a chill up Stiles’s spine. Jackson’s eyes flashed electric blue as he made a show of nosing at Stiles’s neck. There remained something animalistic about his movements, possessive. “How do you think?”

Stiles stuck his tongue out, which only gave Jackson the idea to lick it with his own, leading to a kiss with way too much saliva. He backed them up until his back hit the Jeep, and Jackson didn’t throw Stiles through the open door of the Jeep as much as he grappled him and tossed both of them inside.

Jackson’s eyes kept glowing like the wolf was just under the surface, wanting Stiles as much as the human. Sure, there were claws and ripped clothes, but Stiles wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Jackson wasn’t the only one feeling full like the moon, and Stiles kissed him with everything he had. 

And he finally had something to give.

#END#

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading my fic! There's two things I wanna say:
> 
> 1) I'm not gonna rewrite s4 to include Jackson. I feel like there might be some speculation about this, and I wanted to address it here and now. However, I'm open to other people getting inspired and writing their own variations :D
> 
> 2) I know I took a big risk including the smut the way I did, but for me it was necessary for certain aspects of their character development. Additionally, Jackson and Stiles are both hypersexual in this fic, and, narratively, it's in line with them both seeking endorphins to get through stress/angst. I know this doesn't work for everyone, so I'm sorry for making some of you uncomfortable with this decision.
> 
> \--
> 
> You can find me on Twitter: [@adrianfridge](https://twitter.com/adrianfridge)  
> And Tumblr: <http://fanfictionfridge.tumblr.com>
> 
> You can also express your appreciation in [other ways.](http://fanfictionfridge.tumblr.com/post/166787729357/just-gonna-put-this-out-here-if-you-enjoy-my)


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